


Liberandum

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: And the other way around, Battle Couple Credence and Graves, Credence Barebone kicks ass and takes names, Credence rescues Graves, Credence will do literally anything for Percival Graves, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Double Agents, Epic Battles, Established Relationship, Fights, First Time, Happy Credence Barebone, Happy Percival Graves, Healing, Hurt Original Percival Graves, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Little bits of Fluff, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Nurmengard, POV Credence Barebone, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Credence Barebone, Rescue Missions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sharing a Bed, Smitten Original Percival Graves, and he is so done with you Grindelwald, because screw it they're soulmates, because they both deserve it, cog fix-it, eventually, magic fights, obscurus fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25262968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: I make the decision in a split second. Turn away from Nagini, who clings to my hand and begs me to stay, and stare into the blue fire. They said only his true followers can cross it. Well, let’s hope that loyalty borne of desperation counts.I step forward, prepared for either life or death. But if this is the last thing I do, it will be for him, and so the risk is worth it.~Credence couldn't give less of a damn about his birth name. Grindelwald has something of his, and come hell or high water, Credence plans to get it back.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Gellert Grindelwald (one-sided), Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander (background)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	1. Take Steps Away from Being Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2018 post-CoG. My best friend affectionately calls this my "eff you JKR #giveCredenceagency2k18" fic. :P
> 
> Basically I was really peeved at the lack of Colin Farrell in Crimes of Grindelwald, absolutely hated what they did to my precious bby Credence, and Bob's your uncle, this fic was born. I usually don't write in first-person POV, but I kind of felt like this one begged it just because "wtf is going on in Credence Barebone's head" needs to be a tag y'all, honestly.
> 
> UPDATE I removed the "graphic violence" tag after investigating a couple of other stories with that tag. The violence in this one is mostly magical (characters getting slammed into walls by magic, etc.) but there are no detailed, George RR Martin-esque descriptions of axes entering skulls. So. MODERATE violence, not graphic. (Still are some implications of torture, threats of more torture, Grindelwald being a general douchebag, etc. So. Just beware that that's a thing.)

I make the decision in a split second. Turn away from Nagini, who clings to my hand and begs me to stay, and stare into the blue fire. They said only his true followers can cross it. Well, let’s hope that loyalty borne of desperation counts.

I shut my eyes tight, think hard, _I need him. He’s my last hope. If Grindelwald wins, everything will be okay. I’ll be safe with him._ I step forward, prepared for either life or death. But if this is the last thing I do, it will be for _him_ , and so the risk is worth it.

It works: I pass the barrier, and the look of raw delight on my face is enough to convince the man before me that I am sincere. “Tell me who I am,” I plead, and he smiles. 

I bring up every memory I have of him as Mr. Graves. He looks at me and I look back, my face schooled into an expression of love and adoration, and his smile widens. _Here goes nothing_ , I think, and when he holds out a hand I take it.

I hate him with every fiber of my being. But I need him, because he is my last hope.

~

Nurmengard Castle is huge and cold and imposing, and I don’t try to hide my awe. Grindelwald shows me into the study and bids me to wait for him. I steel myself. Hide my thoughts as best as I can; I don’t know if he can read minds, but they say he can and I’m not taking any chances. I dwell on the pain, the trauma, the anger that has fueled what I now know to be my magic for the last few years. It must work, because he comes into his study, gives me a wand, introduces me to his phoenix, tells me my real name is Aurelius Dumbledore.

It should ring true, should make me feel whole again. It does not. A false lead, then; he is a liar, just as they said. I know now that I can trust nothing he says, and it is all I can do to keep myself focused: if I have come here for nothing, my heart and soul will be so irreparably damaged that I may well become the thing that everyone thinks I am.

I turn around and, in pure frustration, direct a wave of raw power at the nearest mountain. Making it crumble feels good, but what feels better is the satisfaction radiating off of the man behind me. He likes me. I turn around and offer the same shy smile that used to make Mr. Graves look at me all soft-eyed. He responds much the same way, and I think, _I like that he likes me._

I know when he offers me his arm and leads me out of the study that he thinks I am his.

I’m not.

~  
  


My room is more luxurious than I ever could have dreamed. The bed is huge and soft, the ceiling is high, it is open and airy and there is an honest-to-God chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The fireplace is lit and maintained by magic. A gramophone sits by the door, and I need only tap it with my wand and tell it what I want in order to make food appear.

Queenie Goldstein accompanies me to my room. I don’t trust her and keep my guard up; maybe Grindelwald isn’t a real mind-reader, but he _can_ read faces and actions and I don’t want to give anyone loyal to him any reason to suspect me. _You are here because you have to be_ , I remind myself. _You are here for a reason._

“Me too,” Queenie says softly, and I jump a little. “Oh—sorry honey, I didn’t mean to—I’m a natural legilimens,” she explains, as if that means something, and I must look as confused as I feel, because she adds, “I can hear thoughts.”

“You can read minds? Really?” I ask her, surprised. Okay, maybe Grindelwald wasn’t the one I needed to fear after all.

“I can, and it’s a real headache sometimes too, lemme tell you,” she says with a wince. “I’m sorry I startled you, it’s just that I might hear a thought sometimes and think you said something out loud, you know?”

“It’s okay.” I hesitate a moment and then, curious, try it out. _So why are you here, then? You said you were here for a reason._

“I’m in love with a no-maj. If they find out we’ve been seeing each other they’ll throw me in jail and take away his memories. But if Mr. Grindelwald gets his way, he’ll get rid of International Statute of Secrecy, and Jacob and me can be together again.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand and, automatically, I pull back. “It’s okay, I don’t bite,” she says coaxingly, giving me a winning smile. “So, what are you here for, then?”

I could tell her out loud, but I like thinking at her and seeing if she can hear me, so I do it again. _He knows my real name. I want to know who I am._

“Oh,” she says, her eyes getting big. “Well…you gonna leave then, now that he’s told you?”

I shake my head and think, _Mr. Graves and your sister couldn’t help me because witches aren’t supposed to help ordinary people, and I almost died. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen to anyone else and I think Mr. Grindelwald can make that happen._

Queenie nods solemnly. “I understand, honey. Well—I’ll let you get settled.”

She leaves. I wait until I’m sure she’s gone, then look outside just to be sure. I’m alone. For the first time all day, I am blessedly alone, and suddenly I’m exhausted. I inelegantly pull off my clothes and throw them over the chaise lounge before I hurl myself into the luxurious bed. The sheets are silk, soft and delicate and like a balm against my skin. I should love this, but I don’t. 

Finally, _finally_ , after keeping such a tight rein all day, I let myself break. I cry, quietly as I always do, into the fluffy pillows. It’s funny, really, how the littlest things can make you hurt. I’m in a castle with a homicidal maniac who wants to break the world and rebuild it in his image. This is a man who took over the body of someone I deeply trusted and used him to make me do his bidding. He would have kidnapped me, controlled me, if I hadn’t come with him willingly. I should be trembling with fear. I should be too frightened to think straight in his presence. But none of that is what’s making me cry right now.

This is the reason for my tears: Mr. Graves had silk sheets on his bed, too.

~

_A soft hand curls around the back of my neck and gently guides my head down to a waiting shoulder. “I’ve got you,” a low, soothing voice hums in my ear._

_His arms close around me and draw me gently down into his lap, bringing me with him as he settles down on a plush velvet sofa. I bury my face in his neck. A tiny, aching sob escapes, and I feel him tense beneath me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper._

_“Don’t apologize…how can I comfort you, precious?” He reaches up and strokes the back of my neck; he knows this makes me utterly weak. “Do you need me to just hold you while you cry tonight, is that it?” I let out a broken little cry that the collar of his shirt just barely muffles, and he hums softly in sympathy. “Oh, my sweet boy…you’ve had a hard time today, haven’t you.”_

_I break, finally, and let myself weep in his arms. He holds me—God, how gently he holds me!—whispering sweet nothings in my ear the whole time, caressing the back of my neck with a tender hand, intermittently rocking me like a very small child until finally my tears are spent and I melt into his embrace._

_“There we are, that’s better,” he says softly as I finally relax against him. “My sweet Credence. My angel. You’re so brave, sweetheart, so strong, I’m so proud of you. I’m going to take you to bed now, darling, and I’m going to hold you while you sleep, keep you safe in my arms all night long.”_

_He stands, lifting me as effortlessly as though I weigh nothing, and carries me to his bedroom. With a flick of his hand the bed turns itself down; another flick and my clothes are gone, replaced by a set of silky pajamas that are far too big for me. He lays me out on his bed and cocoons me in the luxuriously soft bedding. Moments later he too is dressed down for bed and he wastes no time sliding in behind me and wrapping his arm snugly around me. I sigh deeply and melt into his arms, overcome by the warmth of his firm, sturdy body shielding me from behind and the rare indulgence of a comfortable bed._

_“I love you.” He kisses the side of my face. “I love you, my sweet boy, and I promise you that as soon as I can make it happen, you will spend every night here with me.”_

_“When will that be, Mr. Graves?”_

_“Soon, my heart. Soon I’ll have what I need.”_

_“Tell me,” I say, and I hear him laugh quietly behind me; he knows what I’ll say next: “Your voice helps me sleep.”_

_“Well, then. How can I possibly deny you that?” He leans in and presses another gentle kiss against my cheek before he lays back down with a sigh. He slips his hand underneath the loose pajama top and strokes my chest with the palm of his hand as he begins to speak in the low, steady voice that he knows I love._

_He tells me that a long time ago, a ship full of witches and wizards who had seen persecution in Europe set sail, having heard that the natives of America were kind to those who used magic. But by the time the wizards arrived, the puritans had already ravaged the land and built their settlements. So they went into hiding, built their own government and wrote a law: any sort of unnecessary interaction with non-magic people was forbidden._

_And for a long time, Mr. Graves tells me, that was how he thought it had to be. But then he met me. He fell in love from afar, slowly and then all at once; he could see that I didn’t believe in the anti-magic propaganda that Ma forced me to spread. He says that he formed a plan to repeal Rappaport’s Law after our first kiss, because that was the day he knew that he couldn’t live without me. And we know now that I do have magical blood—though we don’t know if I’m truly magical or just have magical ancestors—but just to be safe, he still needs to finish what he started…_

_I don’t know what he says after that. I’ve already heard what I need to hear. He loves me so much he was willing to change the world for me. I love him deeply in return, and I hope he can feel it. I hope he knows, as I drift off to sleep, that the heart fluttering beneath his open palm beats only for him._


	2. Situations from Dark Now Change to Gray

I’ve always been good at suppressing rebellious thoughts and hiding my deepest secrets, and I have never been more thankful for that than I am during my first few months at Nurmengard.

I play my role. Broken and volatile, yet wide-eyed with delight at the discovery of magic. Grindelwald personally teaches me spellwork. I know he only does this because he wants me to like him, because he wants me to use the obscurus to his advantage. I let him see how quickly I can learn the charms, but pretend to lack finesse, and fake an outburst with the obscurus once in a while, just so he remembers that I am dangerous. He actually seems pleased with the amount of damage I cause, solidifying my suspicion that he only cares for me as a weapon.

When I’m not with him, I spend a lot of time in the library and learn magical history and theory and politics. I learn that there is a word for keeping my mind clear around the others: occlumency. Apparently, I have been doing this since I was a child. I wonder if I can learn to do the opposite as well; it certainly would come in handy.

I practice on my own and learn that I am better at wandless magic than I am with my wand. I remember that Mr. Graves told me once this was a possibility—rare, but not unheard of. I still make myself learn to use the wand. I don’t want my willing captor to know that I can do something so impressive.

By the time I’ve been at Nurmengard for three months I’ve finally gotten used to my wand enough to impress Grindelwald during our magic lessons, and this is when I really turn on the charm with him. “I want to go on missions for you,” I tell him breathily, staring baldly at him the way I did when I thought he was Mr. Graves. “I want to be the best. I want to be like _you_.”

He thinks my eagerness amusing. “All in good time, my boy.” He pats my hair and I have to fight down the urge to slap his hand away. “Doing magic is well and good but your emotions will get in the way every time, my dear. We’ll have to train that out of you first.”

I know what he means and oh, if only he knew! It’s _funny_ , really. But I nod reverently and pretend to take his word as law. “Yes, Mr. Grindelwald. You know best, of course. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

He’s delighted. He thinks he has me _trained._

He begins to take me into the dungeons with him for his interrogations, which I hate. I have to physically hold myself back from rushing to the prisoners afterwards and comforting them, telling them _it’s all right, I’m going to get rid of him for you I swear._ He thinks that my “mental fortitude” is improving when my face locks into an impenetrable mask during these torture sessions, thinks I’m becoming more like him. Really, I’m watching him. Planning. I see how he does things. I see the way he moves, the way he channels his magic, the way he _fights_.

I watch him and learn that he is not as good at wandless magic as Mr. Graves. I watch him and learn that he prefers dramatic flash to practical application. I watch him and learn that he is learned and skilled, but I think I can beat him in terms of raw force.

So when I practice on my own, I get better at wandless and wordless magic. I tie myself down to the bed or chaise and try to make things move or light on fire or disappear just by looking at them. I learn illusion charms, combat spells, healing spells. I practice channeling the obscurus until I can use it _and_ keep my thoughts clean at the same time.

Meanwhile Queenie and I get a little closer. Knowing she can read my mind I’m hesitant to spend _too_ much time with her; it’s exhausting to keep up my mental shields for so long…but I need her, I know I need her, and so I do my best to let her in just enough.

She fixes my terrible haircut, which gives me an idea. “Can you teach me to do that?” I ask her eagerly as she lengthens my hair, and think, _I want to look good for him._

Queenie giggles a little at my “stray” thought. “Aw, Credence, sounds like you have a little crush!” she teases, and I feign embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t blame you a bit, honey. He might not be to my taste, but he’s real exciting, isn’t he? Anyhow, of course I can teach you the glamour spells. They’re real easy, actually, probably easier than anything he’s got you doing.”

She shows me how to change my hair color, my eye color, the shape of my face. She giggles when I get it wrong and accidentally turn my eyes red and my hair green instead of the other way round, and fairly howls when my next effort turns my nose into a toucan beak.

It’s at this moment that, for the first time, I see her not as a threat or an ally, but as a real person: a passionate and gifted witch who is willing to do what she thinks she must in order to make the world a better place. She is kind and gentle. She does not belong here; she’s even worse at witnessing the torture sessions than I am, and if Grindelwald wants her to read the minds of his prisoners he has to make her stand outside and hear them through the door; I’ve seen him make her do it. But I have no doubt that if her lover were locked up in one of those cells, she wouldn’t stop until every obstacle between her and him had been obliterated into shards, and for that alone, I have to respect her.

When the time comes to escape, I will take her with me.

~

Another month passes. I learn to transfigure my appearance until I can disguise myself as well as Grindelwald can. I get very, _very_ good at putting up wards, and even better at taking them apart. I learn that I prefer breaking curses to casting them, and know this will be an area in which I have to compensate.

Knowing that Grindelwald will get bored of me if I can’t serve a purpose for him, I show off a little. I let him see that I’ve gotten good at self-transfiguration by walking into a magic lesson as Queenie instead of myself. He’s shocked when I remove the glamour charms, then bursts out into delighted laughter. “Oh, well done, Credence,” he enthuses. “You’re going to do _so_ _well_ when I let you join the cause, aren’t you, my boy?”

I picture Mr. Graves standing before me and tell him longingly, “I just want to be good for you, sir. You’ve done so much for me, I just want to be useful.”

“Oh, you will, my dear, you will. Tell me, how did you learn to transform yourself like that?” 

I tell him the truth, or most of it: that Queenie taught me glamour charms, and I used them to my own purpose. That I was inspired by his ruse as Mr. Graves. “I know you don’t want to let me out just yet,” I finish, “but I figure if you need infiltration, well…better me than you, sir, you see? Our enemies might predict an attack from you, but they won’t expect me.”

“Oh, Credence. I like the way you think,” he tells me with a sharp, unpleasant grin. “I’ve got some _ideas_ , my boy. And I think you’ll like them.”

“I’ll like any idea if it comes from you,” I tell him, and then use a silent, wandless glamour charm to make my cheeks turn red.

He watches me wolfishly. He _likes_ the thought of me being attracted to him. I wonder if Queenie let slip the ostensible reason that I asked her to teach me to glamour myself.

I wonder if this counts as stepping out on Mr. Graves, and tell myself that he will understand, he will forgive me. As Grindelwald is so fond of saying, this is all for the “greater good.”

~

_“All right. Now, I don’t want you to be nervous. There is absolutely nothing unholy or wrong about this at all. If you relax and just let it happen, I promise you, it’ll be all right. I will be right here with you, and I will not let you feel any pain, no matter what. You understand?”_

_I nod, swallowing down my fear as best as I can. “I understand. I’ll try.”_

_“Good. That’s all I ask.” He comes around behind me, one arm gently wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He closes his free hand around my right wrist. “Steady…now, breathe for me, nice deep breaths…that’s it, you’re already doing so well. Try to relax. Now, when you cast, if it goes wrong I’ll use my own magic to temper it, so it won’t hurt you if the spell backfires.”_

_“How could a spell to create mere light backfire, Mr. Graves?” I freeze as I hear my own words, horrible images coming to mind, and with a shudder I quickly tell him, “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”_

_“Sh-h-h. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I promised you, did I not, that I wouldn’t let you be harmed?” The arm around my waist slides up to my chest, his hand lightly resting over my pounding heart. “You’re frightened again. Let’s wait a moment. I’ll not have you injuring yourself, which is exactly what will happen if we try this now. Talk to me, Credence. Tell me what you think will happen.”_

_I lean into the warmth of his body, trying to let myself be comforted by his strength and his solidity. “I want it to work, and I’m afraid it won’t,” I admit. “I want…I want so badly to be…someone who can be_ yours _, to not…to not have to…”_

_“You want,” he translates kindly, “for us to not have to hide anymore. Oh, trust me, I want that too. But listen—even if you never cast a proper spell in your life, I will still love you with all my heart. And I will not let them take you from me, you understand? Now, let’s start again. Breathe, relax, try to steady yourself a little, that’s it.” He uses his hand to lift mine, pointing the wand held in my sweating, trembling hand at nothing in particular. “Try it now. No matter what happens it will be all right.”_

_And so, as always, I do what he wants. “L-Lumos,” I whisper, my hand still quivering within his. I don’t expect it to work._

_But the tiniest beam of light pulses from the end of the wand, just once, and I’m so startled I drop it. Mr. Graves laughs in delight and spins me around in his arms. “Oh, Credence,” he breathes. “You are a miracle, sweetheart, a true miracle.”_

_“I can do magic?” I clutch at him helplessly, my heart pounding again, my head spinning. “I can? Really? But the light was so faint—”_

_“Well of course it was, that was your first try at a spell, using another man’s wand, and you were nervous on top of all that. You’ll do better once I’ve taught you, once I’ve gotten you your own wand—but I can teach you to do it without a wand too if you like.” Suddenly the delight in his eyes is replaced with a tender warmth, and he caresses my face with his hand as he sighs, “Oh, Credence. I so hoped for this. I’m so proud of you.”_

_I lay my head against his shoulder, suddenly weak with relief. “We can be together now,” I realize, and a tiny sob escapes. “We don’t have to wait until you’ve gotten them to overturn that secrecy law. We can—” I break off and gasp into his shoulder, tears coming unbidden to my eyes._

_“We can, angel, and we will.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and tilts my face up to meet his. “I’m going to my office right now, and I’m going to register you as a no-maj born wizard. And I want you to go home and wait for me. Say any goodbyes you must and pack up anything you want to take with you. I’ll come back for you the minute I’ve got the papers filed.”_

_“Oh, Mr. Graves, really? Is it to be tonight?” I ask excitedly, and straighten up, ready to rush out the door and do just as he says._

_“If I can manage it, absolutely.” He walks me to the door, and his voice is steady but I can feel his hand shaking, just a little, and it lets me know he is as eager for this as I am. “I promise you, my sweet,” he says as we prepare to part ways, “the next time you leave that awful place will be the last.”_


	3. I Know You'll Wait for Me

I’ve been at Nurmengard for six months before I make my first real move on my mission.

Before I leave my room I cast a disillusionment charm on myself and turn into a human chameleon. I suspect that a better, more advanced wizard than I could do this so well as to become purely invisible. I can’t quite manage that, but if I stay in the shadows it will be good enough—which should work in my favor, since the dungeons are indeed in a shadowy part of the castle.

I keep to the darkest halls, take the long way down. I’m used to moving silently through treacherous ground; really, I tell myself, this is no different from when I used to have to sneak down to the soup kitchen in the middle of the night to steal food.

The heavy cell doors have little slit windows with bars, just like a no-maj prison. Grindelwald likes his prisoners to see him coming, so that they are already frightened when he opens their door. He likes to bring them food himself when he can, so that they never know when they see him if he will be bringing them relief or pain. I hate him, but I am thankful for his mind games tonight: I can see inside the cells.

Most of the prisoners are free within their cells. They have been stripped of their wands and dosed with mild calming draughts, so that they are never strong enough to fight him with magic. They pose no real threat, he thinks, so they are allowed to pace their cells, sleep on pallets, have a water pitcher in with them. It may not be much, but they at least are still given some basic human comforts.

I know, even before I reach his cell, that the man for whom I have come will not be so lucky.

He is chained up with heavy manacles that hang from the ceiling, just barely long enough to allow him to lie down on the hard stone floor. I can smell from the door that he is heavily drugged with a much, _much_ stronger potion than the one given to the other prisoners. He is filthy and ragged, and if he gets much thinner he’ll be able to slip his wrists right through those cuffs. He is on death’s door, just about unrecognizable from the beautiful man I met in New York, but I know it’s him: the man I love.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to not rip the place apart. But I know that I will put both our lives in danger if I do. I reach out experimentally and feel at the wards on the door with my magic, and know instantly that they are far more complex than anything I have learned to dismantle. I _could_ , but very likely Grindelwald would feel the breach before I could have it done. And once I got in, how could I get Mr. Graves out? Those chains are almost certainly designed to suppress his magic, because I know Grindelwald is well aware that Mr. Graves can do wandless magic better than just about anyone. I’m sure they will weaken me as well once I touch them.

No. I can’t get him out now. But I know where he is. And as I watch him lie there I feel a new plan beginning to form. It will be dangerous. My love for Mr. Graves can so easily be used against me. I can already see Grindelwald torturing and breaking the man in front of me even further. He won’t need to tie me up if I get out of line: Mr. Graves will become my jailer, the thought of him being harmed enough to make me obey Grindelwald’s orders without question.

But I am not without advantages.

Grindelwald expects me to be volatile. He expects me to be angry. He expects me to lose control in the face of intense emotion.

He also knows that I once loved Mr. Graves. He knows, because that is how he tricked me.

All right, then. Time for plan B.

~

I am terrible at seduction. I lucked out with Mr. Graves: he was kind and firm and more than willing to make the first move. He courted me, not the other way around. And before I just wanted Grindelwald to _think_ I liked him; now I need him to at least pretend to like me back.

Discipline, I remind myself. Discipline and focus, that’s what I need now. Two of Mr. Graves’ most important values. He would be so proud of me, I think, if he could see me now, could see the control I have over my magic. He _will_ be proud of me if I can pull this off.

( _But if you can’t, he will be dead, and so will you._ )

I do poorly during a magic lesson on purpose. Let the obscurus out just enough to knock some books off the shelf. Cry, as convincingly as I can (I’m not used to crying _loudly_ , and I hope he mistakes my red face and screwed-up eyes for heartbreak instead of effort). This could backfire; depending on his mood he may slap me instead of seduce me.

But I take a gamble and kneel at his feet, looking up at him with liquid eyes, and beg his forgiveness. “I just want to be _good_ for you,” I sob, and reach out to touch the hem of his coat, drawing back at the last minute as if I’m afraid that I’m unworthy of touching him.

My risk pays off. “You _are_ good for me, my boy,” he says, an undertone of something raw and dangerous in his voice. “You are doing _very_ well, and soon I’ll take you out and show the world just how good you’ve become. Oh, I can’t _wait_ for MACUSA to get a look at you…”

He does not kiss me, but he _looks_ at me, and I know my suspicions all this time have been correct. He enjoys that I’m attracted to him, and he’s about to use it for his gain. Color me shocked.

It takes three more magic lessons for him to begin openly flirting with me, and I feign blushing innocence in return. He never kisses or touches me, prefering to keep me wanting and anxious. He likes seeing me blush and hearing me gasp out a shocked _sir!_ at his more blatant advances. He is turned on by my vulnerability and it makes me sick, but I take care to hide it. I draw on my early courtship with Mr. Graves, that fluttery pleasure mixed with raw nerves, and hope that if I ever appear closed-off or anxious that he chalks it down to my restricted upbringing.

And then the beautiful day comes that he finally puts a name to it, tells me, “Once we take down MACUSA and the Ministry for good and destroy the Statute of Secrecy, you can be mine in public, won’t you like that?”

“Yes, Mr. Grindelwald,” I say reverently, and try to look at him the way I look at Mr. Graves.

“You’re such a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” he says, and suddenly he pulls me into his lap. I gasp out loud, startled by the unexpected display of affection, and he laughs. “Oh, I see why your Mr. Graves was so fond of you, Credence my boy. You really are quite a… _special_ …young man.”

I know he only likes me because I am obedient to him (or so he thinks), but it’s hard to not appreciate being told such things. For a brief moment I’m disgusted with myself at how easily he took me in back when he was in Mr. Graves’ body, and I am equally disgusted that if there _were_ no Mr. Graves, I’d very likely be melting in this man’s arms right now, thoughtless and helpless to his whims, truly the broken puppet I am pretending to be now.

My little shudder does not go unnoticed, and he looks at me quizzically. I think quickly and scowl. “I don’t want to think about him,” I mutter petulantly. Maybe I can turn this to my advantage, too.

He laughs indulgently. “Ah. Is your former love still a sore spot? I don’t blame you one bit, my boy. I would be angry with such betrayal, too. He left you to die, did he not?” He pets my hair as he says reassuringly, “If it makes you feel the slightest bit better, Credence my dear, I too have been betrayed by a lover. There really is no shame in that. It’s how you respond to it that truly matters.”

“And how would you?” I ask. “If you saw your old lover in here right now, what would you do?”

“Kill him on the spot, unless he begged my forgiveness, and perhaps even then,” Grindelwald replies, as casually as if he’s requesting a particular meal for dinner.

“Me too,” I say fervently, and it draws another laugh from him. I tuck my head against his neck, the way I used to with Mr. Graves. I let loose a few tremors; he’ll think I’m shivering with pleasure, and I will do nothing to disabuse him of the notion.

As long as he thinks I want him, I can make this work.

~

_He is so sweet to me when we first meet._

_A gentle brush of his fingertips against my wrist as he takes a flyer. A little smile across the crowd when he stops by a meeting. A reassuring tone in his voice when he says he will see me again soon. Every kind gesture, every moment of aching tenderness, goes straight to my heart. No one has ever looked at me like I matter before._

_And over time I begin to confide in him. I stand at the edge of the meetings, fliers in my hand, pretending to tell him about the evils of witchcraft, but really I tell him how unhappy I am. How much I’d like to escape my life, if only I could find a way out. He comforts me every time and tells me to stay strong, that he’ll be here for me. When I let it slip that we don’t have enough money to eat this month because we put it all into the soup kitchen, he marches up to Ma in front of the whole crowd and hands her a fistful of bills “for the cause.” She uses it all for the church and only feeds us leftovers from the soup kitchen, but he couldn’t know she would do that, of course, and he’s trying so hard to help._

_He treats me like he cares about me, like he actually likes me. I ask him what I can do for him, and he always says no, don’t do anything, he wants to help me, not the other way around._

_Weeks after we first meet, he catches me downtown as I’m handing out fliers, or trying to, and pulls me into an alley. “Credence, darling,” he says softly, his eyes combing desperately over me as if he’s been starved since we last spoke and my presence is the only thing that can sate him, “may I ask a great favor of you?”_

_“Yes,” I say automatically, because I’m nothing if not polite and the idea of saying no to someone who clearly has authority would never occur to me._

_“May I kiss you?”_

_To say that I am startled would be akin to saying that Ma doesn’t really approve of witches. “What?”_

_“I’d like a kiss.” He sighs heavily and pushes his hand through his hair. “I have no right to ask you, of course. It’s forward of me and I apologize, but I know that if I don’t ask, you’ll never understand…” He takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes hungrily searching my face. “One kiss. That’s all I ask. If you don’t like it, we’ll never speak of it again. You can forget me entirely, if you’d like.”_

_I could never forget him. “Ma will beat me if I say yes.”_

_His eyes darken. “Oh, no she won’t. I won’t let that happen.”_

_And he’s so kind, he’s been so good to me, that I have to believe him. “All right,” I say at last. “You can kiss me. I don’t know why you’d want to, but—”_

_“Oh, Credence,” he cuts me off, sounding as if he might cry, and then I’m in his arms and his lips are on mine and I_ know _._

_The sweet slide of his lips against mine is hypnotic and calming, and even as my heart pounds in my chest my knees buckle and I go weak in his arms. He holds me up, his arms strong around me, pressing me against his firm and wonderful body so that I can feel the warmth of his skin even through our clothes._

_It’s everything a first kiss should be, and I know before it’s even over that I never want to kiss anyone else in my life. I’ve never been touched or held like this before, like I’m something precious and beautiful and breakable, and I know that I’m gone. My sinful nature cannot be tamed: one touch like this and I am addicted._

_“Oh, Credence,” he says again when our lips part, his voice raw and breathless._

_“Mr. Graves,” I gasp, dizzy, my legs still trembling. My hand drifts up of its own accord to trace the flawless line of his cheek. “Why me, though?” I hear myself ask in a tiny, pathetic voice. “I’m nothing.”_

_“Oh, sweetheart. You’re everything.” He holds me close, guides my head down to his shoulder. “Please, Credence,” he begs me quietly. “Please let me love you.”_

_And my heart cracks open and pushes through my chest to meet his, and we stand there in each others arms, he’s close to tears with it and so am I, and I think I say yes, but even if I don’t he understands that I can no more stop myself from loving him than I can stop the sun from rising._

_Later, he will tell me he is a wizard, that magic is real, and that we must be very careful. He will tell me that he isn’t just a wizard, he’s an important wizard who works for the magical government. That if anyone from his world finds out, my memories will be taken and he will be intensely punished. And he also will tell me, eyes brimming with aching hope, that he’s already working on a way to change things so that we can be together without hiding._

_But now, all he does is hold me, and whisper to me that he wants me, and that his heart is already mine, and that is all I need to hear._


	4. Monster, How Should I Feel?

Eight months to the day since I was brought to Nurmengard, I blast into my alleged lover’s office and release a blast of magic that shakes the windows and knocks books off the shelves. He looks up in shock as I begin to unfurl the obscurus and let my eyes cloud over white. _“YOU LIED TO ME,”_ I scream.

He looks at me, too shocked to retaliate. “Credence, what on earth are you talking about?”

I let the obscurus rattle some paintings on the walls, shake the windows again. He gets up from the desk and carefully approaches me as I scream, _“PERCIVAL GRAVES IS STILL ALIVE. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE KILLED HIM.”_ His hand hovers over my shoulder and when it makes contact, I snap the obscurus in like a rubber band. Let myself collapse against him, wet my eyes with a silent charm. “He hurt me,” I say through fake sobs. “He _hurt_ me. I want him _dead_.”

“All right. Sh-h-h. All right, my dear, you don’t have to cry, let me explain.” He pets my hair comfortingly as he says, “I kept him alive, imprisoned, so I could use him if we needed him again, you understand, don’t you?” I nod against his chest, still feigning tears, and he calmly goes on, “I never planned on you knowing he was here, of course, and I should very much like to know how you found out, but—”

“I overheard someone,” I sob. “They were talking about ‘that wasted director from MACUSA.’ I can put two and two together, you know, I’m not stupid!”

“Of course you aren’t.” He lovingly pats my back. I try not to vomit. “Now, you must understand, we cannot kill him until we’ve won. But perhaps if it would make you feel better…”

He stops. I know he’s weighing his options: does he let me have a crack at Mr. Graves now, or dangle him before me as a reward? I’m prepared to do whatever he asks to get into that room. I look up at him with wide, teary eyes, silently begging. I know he likes it when I prostrate myself and I’m just about to slide to my knees when he says, “I think I could at least let you see him. Only for a moment, you understand, and I must ask that you leave him alive.”

“Would you?” I ask, and silently charm some more tears to spill free. “I just want him to pay, sir…I know _you_ understand, you told me so…please, just once, so I can get in one good hit, and then…and then, maybe, I can really…be _yours_.” I punctuate the end of my sentence with a gentle, hopeful brush of my hand against his. He likes it when I try to make a move on him, because he thinks of me as innocent and easily won.

It works: with a dark, almost feral grin he says, “Well, now. That’s quite an incentive for me, then, isn’t it?” He cups my chin in my hand and makes him look at me. “And because I’m feeling especially generous tonight, I think we can do one better. What would you say, I wonder, to not just getting revenge on your Mr. Graves, but on MACUSA itself?”

I’d love to say no. But I imagine Mr. Graves standing before me instead of this monster, and let myself go soft-eyed and pliant in my would-be captor’s hands. “I would like that very much, Mr. Grindelwald.”

“Oh, I was hoping you would say that.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I can’t _wait_ until Seraphina Picquery gets a taste of you. Tell me, pet, do you think if I get you into a symposium on the International Statute of Secrecy, you could complete a task for me once you’re inside?”

Whatever he’s going to ask me to do, it will not be good. It doesn’t matter. For Mr. Graves, I will do it.

I force a smile onto my face, give him the dreamiest look I can. “Yes, Mr. Grindelwald.”

~

The task is simple. There is an international symposium to be held in Amsterdam on the effects of the Statute of Secrecy. Our intelligence has determined that Newton Scamander will not be present, and Grindelwald has decided that, yes, he should be. He will go to them, offer testimony on obscurials and the threat they _do not_ pose. He will insist that if they are properly tamed, they pose no threat, and really, Ms. President, Rappaport’s Law is so outdated, we ought to repeal it, don’t you think? Then we wouldn’t _need_ to worry about obscurials, you know!

The catch, of course, is that Newt will be me.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s doing this more as a test than anything else. If anything, he’d be equally delighted if I were to lose control of my obscurus and wreck the symposium, as he will be if I pull it off. Either Newt Scamander successfully convinces Seraphina Picquery to overturn Rappaport’s Law, _or_ an obscurial takes out half of the magical world leaders. It’s a win-win.

The testimony itself goes well. I’ve only met Newt a couple of times, but he is damn unforgettable, and it’s easy for me to slip into his voice. I argue, just as I was taught, to capture, contain, and rehabilitate obscurials rather than killing them. I use myself as an example, as proof that obscurials _can_ live past ten and that they _can_ learn magic, and add that if MACUSA had only gotten to me first, why, I might never have joined the dark side! Imagine that!

Then I turn to President Picquery and all but beg her to consider repealing Rappaport’s Law. “I have it on good authority,” I tell her, “that Credence Barebone was attached to someone close to you long before Grindelwald came into the picture. Had this employee of yours felt safe enough to come to you for help, perhaps a greater tragedy might have been averted.”

She looks back at me calmly. “I assume you are speaking of Percival Graves,” she says matter-of-factly, and I have to work hard to hide my surprise. “Yes, I have been made well aware of his love-affair with the obscurial. Merlin himself couldn’t have stopped Graves from marrying that boy, had they both lived.” A smile flits briefly across her lips, then she quickly sobers. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with the Statute, or Rappaport’s Law.”

“Madam President, if it weren’t for Rappaport’s Law, I sincerely doubt New York would have ever seen an obscurial,” I tell her seriously. “In Britain, we manage to largely maintain our cover, while still allowing for intermarriage. We don’t have any British-born obscurials currently at large, you see.”

“Touche, Mr. Scamander,” she says with a knowing little grin. Most of the International Confederation are nodding along with me; I know that most of their countries do not have an equivalent of Rappaport’s Law. 

After the symposium, President Picquery invites me to her rooms alone, and I know this is more than even Grindelwald could have dreamed of. The aurors grumble, but she dismisses them, reminding them that being president does not bar her from having a private conversation “with a dear friend.” I’m glad she thinks that way, it makes what I have to do next much, _much_ easier.

The minute we’re alone, I tell her, “Listen, we don’t have much time, Madam President, and there’s something you urgently need to know—”

“Save it,” she cuts me off, and takes a seat behind her desk.

But I don’t have time to deal with whatever she’s about to scold me for, so I burst out with, “Ma’am, you don’t understand, I’m not really Newt…”

…just as she draws her wand on me and says, “I don’t know who you are, but you are most definitely not Newt Scamander.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds before she says slowly, “I didn’t think you’d admit it.” Then, fiercely, “Are you one of Grindelwald’s? Who _are_ you?”

“He thinks I am, and that’s all that matters. As for who I really am…” I hesitate and look at the wand in her hand. Slowly I take mine out and set it on her desk. “Could you put yours away, too?” I ask her hesitantly. “It’s just I’d like to know you’re not going to kill me on sight when I reveal myself.”

“I’m the damn president, not an executioner. What the hell would make you think I’m going to kill you on sight?” she snaps, offended.

“Well, ma’am, last time we met, you kind of did.” As I speak I let the obscurus rise, just enough to surround my hands and face with delicate black tendrils.

Her eyes go wide. “Merlin’s ass,” she says, sounding more annoyed than afraid. “Credence Barebone.”

I suck the obscurus back in. “Yes, and now that we’ve established that, maybe you’ll believe me when I tell you that Percival Graves is alive. There must be some way I can prove I’m serious—please, ma’am, Mr. Graves is dying, I don’t know how much longer he can hold on, and I think I can get him out of there but I might need help.”

Slowly, she gets to her feet and comes out from behind the desk, eyeing me closely. “Stay here,” she says, and goes into the other room for a moment. She returns with a fancy cut-glass tumblr full of what appears to be water. She hands it to me and orders, “Drink.” I do, and the first thing she says is, “All right, now first things first: Are you loyal to Gellert Grindelwald?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m here on his behalf, technically, but I am not _his_. I only went with him so that I could find Mr. Graves.” I know there are ways to circumvent truth potions—half-truths, exact words, lies of omission. I have no intention of doing any of that. It’s easy, very easy, to let the whole, complete truth flow from my lips, and if this is what it takes for her to trust me, so be it.

“Are you really Credence Barebone?”

“Yes.”

“Is your obscurus under control?”

“Very much so. I can demonstrate if you want.”

“Not now.” She watches me closely for a moment and then asks, “Did you really have a love-affair with Percival Graves?”

“Yes. It’s how I found out I was a wizard. He was going to file some sort of documents that would register me as part of the wizarding world, and then we could be together.”

“So that’s what he was up to.” A smile briefly turns up the corners of her mouth. “He talked about you, you know. I didn’t realize it was _you_ until after you both...died, so to speak...but I should have known...well, anyway. Do you have evidence that he’s alive?”

“Not with me, no, but I’ve seen him. He’s chained up in Nurmengard and he’s very weak. I don’t know how much longer he’ll survive.” I wince as the brutal, harsh truth comes from my mouth. I _don’t_ know if Mr. Graves can survive. For all I know, he’s already dead. “I’ll do anything you want,” I tell her, “but on one condition, and one alone—you can do what you like to me, but I want your word as the President that if I return Mr. Graves to you, you will do _nothing_ to hurt or punish him. If his safe return means my execution, I’ll accept it.”

Her eyes widen again. “You’d give your life for his?”

“Gladly.”

“Well. How about that.” She considers for a moment, then hands me a little glass vial full of blue potion. “Here’s the truth serum antidote. You’ve convinced me. Drink that, and tell me your plan for saving your Mr. Graves. If you get him out alive and unharmed, I’ll get you _both_ amnesty for anything you might have done to achieve that end.”

“Alive I can probably deliver. Unharmed, not so much.” I drink the antidote and tell her everything. My mission here, what I know of Mr. Graves’ condition, and most importantly, my plan to get him out.

Ultimately she agrees to the full plan, and even goes so far as to feed me some “valuable” information to take back to Grindelwald. I leave promising to contact Newt through Queenie, as planned, the minute I’ve gotten Mr. Graves to safety.

When I return to Nurmengard that night I leverage my giddy excitement as I tell Grindelwald that I did even better than he hoped: I got a private audience with President Picquery and, in addition to her personal assurance that she would draft an executive order to amend Rappaport’s Law, she let slip a few state secrets. He chortles in visible delight as I tell him the things she told me—nothing, really, that can _take down_ MACUSA, but things that he considers important.

“Well done, my boy,” he enthuses when I finish. He details all the things he wants from me next, lists of towns he wants me to ravage, people he wants me to kill with my obscurus—“only _bad_ people, Credence, enemies to the cause”—and the people he wants me to impersonate. I feel sick just thinking of all the damage I would cause if I were truly his.

And then: “Tomorrow night,” he promises, “you will get your reward.” He looks at me sternly. “Remember, my boy, you _must_ control yourself. You may return the pain that he inflicted on you, but you may _not_ kill him…” And then a dark little smile twists his face. “But once we’ve won the war, my dear…I will joyfully watch you kill Percival Graves.”

“Oh, thank you sir, _thank you_ ,” I say breathlessly, and then— _be brave, Credence_ —I fling myself at him and kiss him quickly on the mouth, as if I just can’t help myself, and then draw back, glamouring a blush onto my face. “Oh, sir—I’m so sorry, I—”

He hushes me with a finger over my lips. “I think we’ll save _that_ for another night as well,” he says with that same twisted smile. “But I very much appreciate your… _enthusiasm_ , Credence.”

I do not throw up. Somehow.

_I’m coming, Mr. Graves._

~

_Mr. Graves finds me broken and bleeding on the steps of the church three days after our first kiss. I’m to spend tonight on the streets, Ma has told me, because even her usual punishments haven’t cured me of my wickedness. I’m not sure what I have allegedly done this time, but it doesn’t matter: her word is law._

_I look up at him through dead eyes, too exhausted to speak, to beg. I know, as surely as I know the sun will rise, that this is it. That once he’s seen me like this, he will leave me._

_Instead, he breathes my name like a prayer and takes me up into his arms. “Hold on, my sweet,” he whispers against my hair. “Take a deep breath. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”_

_There’s a sensation of terrible compression, as if I’m being crushed through a tiny rubber tube, the air squashed from my lungs and my body screaming in protest, and then all at once it’s over. Mr. Graves rattles off a hundred apologies to me as he lays me down on the sofa and rests my head on a soft velvet pillow. I cough, gasp, try to draw breath. He strokes my hair, filthy and flecked with dried blood, out of my eyes. “My beautiful boy,” he murmurs tenderly. “Who did this to you?”_

_“It’s my fault,” I force out once I’ve got my breath back. “I was bad. Well. I usually am, but this time I didn’t mean to be, I swear.”_

_“Your mother,” he gasps. “Mercy Lewis. How…how_ could _she?” He traces the line of my face, and I can hear his voice trembling in anger. “Oh, Credence, my heart…stay still, now, let me fix this…”_

_He unbuttons my shirt, pulls off my tie, slips off my jacket. I would try to get away—I know what he wants, it’s what all invert men want, so Ma has told me, and I don’t especially want to give it to him tonight—but I’m too weak to struggle. “Please,” I begin, and cough again, still breathless from whatever he did to get us here. “Please, Mr. Graves, I—”_

_“It’s all right, sweet boy.” He kisses my forehead and gently rolls me over onto my side, so that I’m facing the back of the couch, and carefully finishes removing my clothes so that I’m exposed from the waist-up. “Let me take care of you. Let me take away as much of your pain as I can.”_

_He kneels behind me and gasps at the sight of my back. I cringe, hating for him to see something so ugly, but the way he touches me is tender, almost reverent. His hand moves steadily down the center of my back, and I feel…something. The open wounds are closing. The sticky, drying blood vanishes. My skin still feels thin and sore, but the pain is much more bearable now._

_“That will do for now.” He finishes his work and stands up. “I’m going to run you a hot bath, and while you get cleaned up, I’m going to get you something to eat. And then I will put you in my bed, and you will get a full night’s sleep for what I suspect is the first time in your life, would you like that?”_

_“Yes, Mr. Graves.”_

_He takes a moment to stroke my hair before he leaves to fill the tub. Moments later he’s carrying me, careful not to jostle me too much. “May I help you undress, sweetheart?” he asks once we’re in the bathroom. “I promise not to take any liberties, I just want to get you in the water.”_

_“I can manage,” I tell him, and he respectfully sets me down on the edge of the tub and leaves me to undress and sink into the deliciously hot water. The pain shrinks again by half, and I moan involuntarily as the soothing heat melts the tension from my sore muscles._

_I hate to get out, but when he taps on the door and tells me dinner is ready, I do. I get out to find that my clothes have been replaced by what I can only assume is a pair of Mr. Graves’ pajamas. Clearly, I realize with a jolt, he means me to put them on. I get dressed and go out to the parlor, where he’s waiting for me with a tray of food._

_In an instant he is at my side, wrapping me in a soft blanket and sweeping me back into his arms. “You don’t need to,”I protest. “I’m all right, really.”_

_He carries me to the couch and settles me on his lap. His forehead presses against mine and he says, very softly, “Please, let me.”_

_I give in and let him do what he wants…which, it turns out, is to hand-feed me a rich, hearty beef stew, very unlike the watery stuff we serve at church, spicy fried potatoes, and thick slices of bread slathered with butter, followed by a mug of sweet, creamy hot chocolate. The food is all hot and fresh and so,_ so _good. For the first time in my life, I’m full and satisfied when I’m finished eating._

_After the meal he takes me to his bedroom, unrolls me from the flannel blanket and lays me out in his sumptuous bed. “Are you going to stay with me?” I ask him sleepily._

_“Only if you want that, precious.”_

_“Please do. I want to be close to you,” I tell him, too tired and content to be ashamed of needing him._

_“Then stay with you I shall.” He magically changes his clothes and slips into bed beside me. “Would you like me to hold you, or stay over here?”_

_My mind is fuzzy, my body so limp I think I might be dying. The heat of the bathwater, the silky pajamas against my bare skin, the unfamiliar sensation of a full stomach, the softness of this wonderful bed…I’ve never had so much comfort in my life and it feels so good I’m almost frightened._

_“Credence? Are you already asleep, sweetheart?”_

_Right. He asked me a question. “Hold me, please,” I manage, my words slurred._

_“As you wish, my heart.” He scoots close to me and pulls me into a protective, gentle embrace._

_And that’s it. The last piece of a perfect puzzle. The last few dregs of tension slip from my body, the pain has shrunk to a mere whisper, and for once my anxious mind is quiet. I drop almost instantly into a deep sleep, reaping oceans and galaxies’ worth of comfort from the presence of the beautiful, kind man who holds me so tenderly in his arms._


	5. I'm A Young Lover's Rage

True to his word, for once, the day after I meet President Picquery at the symposium, Grindelwald makes good on his promise to take me down to the dungeons and exact revenge on my former lover.

He kisses me before we go down, ostensibly to soothe my troubled soul, but really, I know, to suss me out. He wants to know if my feelings for him are real, if I really can be bent to his purpose, before he lets me near what I suspect is his favorite plaything.

I am not naive enough to think he is doing this for me. I know the idea of seeing me torture Mr. Graves is absolutely delightful to him—the twisted sick bastard. He _loves_ the idea of using one of his pets to torture the other. The only thing that could make this better for him, I think, is if he knew I didn’t want to do it. If he could hurt both of us at the same time, he’d probably get off on it right there in the middle of the cell.

Mr. Graves’ condition has, of course, not improved since I last saw him. He is so heavily drugged that his eyes barely open when we enter his cell, and so weak that he can’t lift his head. I ache to run to him, comfort him, stick my wand between his lips and pour water down his throat until he’s floating, feed him until he’s so full he can’t move, heal every single one of his injuries.

Instead I school my features into a scowl and cling to Grindelwald’s arm like I’m frightened. “Is this the man who _hurt you_ , Credence?” he says silkily.

Mr. Graves lifts his heavily lidded eyes to us. His lips part in a faint gasp. “You bastard. Let him go,” he manages, his voice so hoarse it’s barely audible.

My heart floods with emotion and oh, God, after being strong all this time I’m so tired, my control is tested severely. A sob escapes, and I barely manage to play it off, burying my face in Grindelwald’s shoulder as if the sight of him is just too much. “It’s him, Mr. Grindelwald, sir, oh, _please_ can I—”

“Now, now, my pet,” Grindelwald coos, his voice like poisoned honey. “Control yourself, as we discussed. You may _not_ kill him. I’ll allow you one hit. Perhaps a nice _crucio_ will give you the closure you need?”

I let go of Grindelwald’s arm and fix a cold stare on my real lover. He is so weak from drugs and starvation and God knows what else that he can’t even manage to look frightened, but I _know_ him, I know he is. His eyes are desperate and his breath comes in weak, uneven pants, his heart is _breaking_ and oh God, _oh God_ , how could I _ever_ have been taken in by a cheap imitation? I know Mr. Graves better than I know myself. I don’t need Queenie’s mind-reading powers to know what he is thinking: he would be thrilled to see me alive, but the thought that I might have been brainwashed to torment him is unbearable.

“Credence, sweetheart,” Mr. Graves rasps as I approach him, “Credence, it’s me…you know me…I’d never hurt you…oh Mercy Lewis, what has he done to you…”

Hesitantly, as if I’m almost frightened, I circle him. Slowly. I make to go to him a couple of times and then draw back. “Oh, do go on,” Grindelwald croons after a good minute of this, “he’s chained up, my boy, he can’t touch you, he is utterly helpless to your whims, look at him. He can’t hurt you, but you _certainly_ can hurt him.”

I circle him again, kneel down by Mr. Graves’ head, and whisper, so quietly it’s almost inaudible, “I promise you, my sweet, the next time you leave this awful place will be the last.” I draw back just enough to see astonishment peeking through his drugged haze. Good, maybe Grindelwald will mistake it for fear.

“What did you tell him, pet?” Grindelwald asks when I stand up again. His evil grin makes my stomach hurt. He thinks I’m going to enjoy this, the way he does.

But I know what I have to do. And I’m not going to enjoy it one bit. 

“The truth,” I say, and release the obscurus.

It takes Grindelwald perhaps half a second to realize that the obscurus is not coming for Mr. Graves, but for him.

His screams echo through the tiny cell, but I don’t watch. I let the obscurus do its work as I kneel beside Mr. Graves. Without withdrawing my wand I put my hands over his cuffs, direct as much power as I can spare at them, and think hard, _laxare maledicere!_ The curse-breaking spell works, and the cuffs snap open. “You’ll be all right,” I whisper to him as I gather him in my arms, shielding him from the swirling wind of the obscurus. “It’s my turn to save you, Mr. Graves.”

And then I have to shield us both with my magic as Grindelwald, with an inhuman scream, manages to repel the obscurus. He fixes rage-filled eyes on me, takes in the sight of me cradling Mr. Graves in my arms, shielding him with my magic and my body. “Very well done, _my pet_ ,” he says through gritted teeth as he thrusts a hand in the air to magical repelling the obscurus, which is still doing its best to swallow him whole. 

I can see scars on his face and feel a flash of triumph: he _is_ human, he _can_ be hurt. I know now, beyond any doubt, that this is not a suicide mission. “I’m not your _pet_ ,” I snarl. “And I never will be.”

“Oh, I think you will,” Grindelwald sneers at me as he repels my obscurus again. “But I must commend you for your skill. I am not an easy man to trick. I am so impressed, in fact, that I may well let you both live if you stop this childish and futile behavior _right now_.”

I have prepared for this: my obscurus can kill, but so far I have only killed non-magical victims and only accidentally. There was always a chance he would be strong enough to fight back. I rise to my feet and face my enemy. I direct every single bit of magical energy I can muster at Grindelwald, along with the full force of my obscurus.

He is knocked backwards, but only for a moment. He rallies and directs blue lightning at me, which my obscurus happily swallows and, to my own delight, enlarges. He roars in frustration and shoots another blast. I dodge, press forward, let the obscurus swirl around me. _Pick him up_ , I order the obscurus. _Pick him up and break his neck, go on, I know you can do it._

It swirls around him and barely manages to penetrate his shield, but he beats it back. No. It’s not enough, I realize. I’ll have to fully transform which will leave Mr. Graves exposed. But if I’m quick enough…

I know what I have to do. I throw my head back and let out a scream of fear and anger and anticipation as I let my body turn to smoke. It’s hard to see, to hear, to breathe; it _hurts_ to turn into this thing. But I’ve prepared for this. _Towards him,_ I urge the black whorls. _Get him, go on. He’s going to hurt me. Do what you do._

When I’m transformed I can’t feel physical touches, so I only have to go off the faint screams of my victim as the black smoke curls around his neck and sharply yanks him off his feet. I have to rely on emotion, because that’s what the obscurus really _is_ , and assume that the burst of anger and joy that my obscurus feels means that I have successfully caused damage. But I keep going, pushing the black cloud to its absolute limits. I have to kill him, I have to be _sure_ that he is gone, before I will be safe.

I hear a faint cry. A quiet voice. An eye in the hurricane. “Credence…please…”

That isn’t Grindelwald’s voice.

_Okay. It’s okay. You need to be human now. Mr. Graves needs you._

It takes a good few minutes to calm the obscurus enough to resume my human form. When I do, the first thing I see is a twisted figure, flayed and broken and bleeding, at my feet. A low snarl, a noise of pure satisfaction, escapes my lips. _I killed him._ I thought I would feel guilt or regret; taking a life is no small thing, after all, even one as terrible as his.

But all I can think about now is that he is gone, and we are _safe._

“Credence,” comes that faint, desperate gasp again, and I whirl around and in an instant am back at Mr. Graves’ side. He looks so broken, so utterly vulnerable, that for a moment that bloodlust roars inside me again; if I could bring the man who did this to him back to life just to kill him again, I would. But no—he’s gone, and Mr. Graves needs me.

“Sh-h-h. It’s all right, Mr. Graves. We’re going to get out of here. You just have to trust me.” I hold him for a moment, stroking the filthy hair out of his sunken eyes. “I’m going to give you some water, all right?” He nods, and I put the tip of my wand to his mouth. A thin stream of water comes out and he laps at it greedily. “Poor thing, you were thirsty…I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner.” 

For the first time, real tears prick at my eyes, and I want to stay here with him in my arms forever. _I almost lost you_ , I think, watching my injured lover gulp water from the end of my wand as if I’ll snatch it away any moment. _I won’t make that mistake again._

When he’s finally done drinking, I hold him against my chest, with his head tucked into the crook of my neck, for just a moment. I want him to feel me. To know that it’s _me_ , that I’m _real_ , and I won’t hurt him. Finally the reality sinks in: we can’t stay here. He needs treatment and rest and things he can’t get in the bottom of a cell. So I reluctantly tell him, “We have to go. I’m going to use a spell to help you sleep, so that you won’t be hurt when I move you.”

“No,” he croaks. “No, please…”

“Look at me, Mr. Graves…” I gently cup the back of his head with my hand so I can help him meet my eyes. “I promise, the sleeping spell won’t hurt you. You _will_ wake up, and I _will_ be there when you do. This isn’t a dream, it’s real, and I’m going to get you out of here.”

He looks into my eyes for a moment, still frightened, and then all at once he submits, laying his head against my chest with a tiny, broken sigh. I wait for one last crucial moment, carding my fingers through his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense in his ear just as he has done for me so many times, until he manages a weak, “I trust you.”

“I love you,” I reply, and kiss his forehead before I focus my magic on him. _Dulcia soporia_. A spell for pleasant dreams. He melts in my arms with another weak sigh, and when I look at him again the tiniest of smiles is on his face as he sleeps peacefully.

With that taken care of, I set him down and get to the real work. I transfigure Grindelwald’s bloody, twisted form until it resembles Mr. Graves, move him to the center and snap the cuffs back on him. I then turn the real Mr. Graves’ face into mine, and disguise myself as Grindelwald. Mr. Graves is so emaciated it’s no work at all to carry him out of the dungeon and up the stairs to Grindelwald’s office. 

I summon a flunky and demand that he get Queenie, then focus my magic on a chair and turn it into a cot for Mr. Graves. Even with my face, even with the faint smile from his spell-sweetened dreams, he does not look good. Queenie gasps when she sees him. “Oh my God! Credence!” She rushes to his side and looks up at me, almost accusingly. “What happened? Who hurt him?”

“I took him to the dungeon for an interrogation. The wretched prisoner escaped their chains and attacked my obscurial.” I gesture to Mr. Graves. “Now, listen well, Miss Goldstein, we haven’t got much time. One of your friends is an expert in magical creatures, yes? We need him. Badly. Credence will die if he isn’t seen by someone who knows how to treat obscurials and, though I do have many talents, that is unfortunately not my area of expertise. You will contact your old friends and tell them whatever you have to in order to get them to Alpbach, do you understand?”

I hate to use Queenie like this. I would tell her what’s going on, but I honestly don’t know how she’ll react to hearing that the man upon whom she’s pinned her hopes and dreams has died by my hand. Watching her kneel by Mr. Graves’ cot, however, and looking down at what she thinks is my prone body so tenderly, I think maybe she _would_ understand, if I tell her there was no choice. But I don’t want to take that risk.

“Go now,” I urge her. “I’ll do what I can for him but you _must_ hurry, Miss Goldstein, or Credence will die.”

It’s not a lie, I think as she runs from the room in tears. If Mr. Graves doesn’t make it, I may well die of a broken heart.

I kneel beside his cot and card my hand through his hair again, hoping that he can feel it inside whatever lovely dreams the spell has given him. “Hold on, my love,” I whisper as I take his hand and cup it protectively between both of mine. “Help is coming. Stay strong for me. Please…oh God, _please_ don’t leave me.”

~

_We meet in the middle of the night this time, because Ma is away overnight and I know the girls are safe and asleep at home. We meet in our alley, and before I can say a single word of greeting he’s got me in his arms and kisses me like he hasn’t had a decent meal in a year and has decided to devour me instead._

_“I love you,” I gasp when we come up for air. “I love you so much Mr. Graves, I—I_ need _you.”_

_“As I need you, sweetheart.” He cradles me in his arms, guiding my head down to his shoulder as he likes to do. I know he enjoys this as much as I do; my weight in his arms is comforting to him, a way of reassuring him that I am real and I am here and I have not succumbed to injury or despair._

_He wants to take me home with him and keep me there, but if we’re discovered it will be our undoing. We don’t yet know if I can do magic and so far I’ve been too afraid to try, and he’s not yet been able to convince the President to hear his arguments for repealing the law that keeps us apart._

_So at home I must stay, as much as he hates it and tries to spirit me away as often as possible. He lives for the nights Ma kicks me out to sleep in the street. He watches the church every night waiting for her to evict me so that he can steal me away to his apartment for the night. He tells no one about me and I tell no one about him, but we are still each other’s world._

_Now he draws back after holding me for a moment. “Show me your hands, please.”_

_I do. “It’s not that bad. She’s been distracted lately.” The marks are old, half-healed and barely stinging._

_He heals them anyway and then makes me turn around. “Now your back,” he says, and vanishes my shirt. I shiver as the cool autumn air hits my bare skin. “Sorry, darling. Here…” He quickly passes a hand over these half-healed cuts too. My shirt and jacket reappear as if they were never gone. “There, is that better?”_

_“Much.” I turn and wrap my arms around him again. “Will you come to my room tonight?” I dare to ask. “I can’t leave my sisters, but Ma will be gone until noon tomorrow. My room isn’t as comfortable as yours, but—”_

_“If it’s what you want, sweet boy, I will absolutely come to your room. Shall I take us there now?” At my nod he pulls me in close. “All right, brace yourself.” We disappear and reappear in my room, and he holds me upright until I steady myself in his arms. “I know you hate that,” he says sympathetically._

_“It’s all right. When I’m with you nothing really hurts.”_

_His eyes well with tears. “Oh, Credence. My sweet Credence.” He cups a hand around my cheek. “You are truly a miracle, my heart.”_

_“You’re my miracle. My guardian angel,” I tell him candidly, and with a soft cry he draws me into his arms and holds me like he’ll never let go._

_We sleep on my bed that night, after he uses a handy little spell to make it wide enough for both of us and conjures up enough soft bedding to keep us warm in the drafty room. This is only the sixth precious night that we have slept in each other’s arms, and it is every bit as magical as the last five._

_I’m sure he’s bursting to have me, because I’ve been told that’s all inverts like us are supposed to want, and I offer myself nervously before we sleep. He soothes my worried frown with a kiss and promises, “I give you my word as a gentleman, Credence, I will not make love to you until you are absolutely certain that you want it and that you’re ready for it.”_

_“But I’m supposed to—if we’re lovers, I’m supposed to—”_

_“No, precious. There’s no ‘supposed to’ here. When you’re ready for intimacy we’ll have each other every which way, but until then…” He gives me a gentle squeeze. “This is all I need, my heart. Your existence alone makes me happy.”_

_I’ve never felt so loved or safe in my life when I’m with him. And I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that if anything ever happens to him, I will be lost._


	6. I Can Hold You When You Reach For Me

It takes Queenie twenty-four hours to arrange a meeting with Newt. During this time I make Mr. Graves as comfortable as I can and heal the external injuries to the best of my ability. He looks much better after I’m through, but he’s still weak and malnourished and badly needs a proper healer. “Hold on,” I urge him, stroking his hair even as he sleeps. “We’ll get you somewhere safe. Just don’t give up yet, Mr. Graves, please.”

After what feels like an age, Queenie comes and tells me that she’s got Newt, Tina, and Theseus to agree to meet her in Alpbach, the closest village, at sunrise tomorrow. I tell her to pack, ostensibly because I don’t know how long it’ll take to heal Mr. Graves, but really, because we aren’t coming back. That night, the President and I exchange patronuses, and she outlines the plan: once the others see that we’re safe, and that we aren’t infiltrators, she will meet us at Newt’s old school, Hogwarts, in Scotland. We’ll get Mr. Graves treated there, and once he’s stable to travel further we’ll get him home to New York.

The next morning Queenie goes to the agreed-upon meeting place, a lovely secluded field, alone. I wait out of sight and remove the glamour spells from both myself and Mr. Graves before I step out of my hiding place and bring the stretcher with me. Queenie cries out in shock. Instinctively I whirl around and perform a silent binding spell, and she falls to her knees with her hands tied. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, “but I need you to not run off while I tell them.”

None of the others seem shocked to see me. Good, then President Picquery alerted them to the delicate nature of the situation. Newt points his wand at me and says _revelio_ , but of course since I’ve already taken off the glamours there’s nothing to reveal. “It is you, then,” he says calmly. “Good.” He nods to the stretcher. “How is he?”

“Very badly off,” I tell him. “I’ve done what I can, but he needs help.”

“And Grindelwald?” Tina presses nervously. “Is he going to come after us?”

“He can’t,” I tell her bluntly, “because he’s dead.”

At this, Queenie lets out a desperate little wail. “Credence! You didn’t,” she all but sobs, and my heart wrenches.

“I had to,” I tell her. “He would have killed Mr. Graves if I hadn’t.” I look back to Newt and directly ask him, “Can you help him? Please say you can help him.”

Newt leaps into action. Honestly, with his inability to watch a living thing suffer, I’m surprised it’s taken this long. “Help me get him into the case,” he orders me.

The inside of Newt’s case is glorious, and on any other day I’d be entranced by the array of beautiful and terrifying animals he’s collected. But right now all I care about is Mr. Graves. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies,” I tell Newt as he moves Mr. Graves from the stretcher to a real bed and begins examining him.

“He’ll be all right, I’m sure,” Newt calmly assures me. He pulls out his wand and begins to run diagnostic spells. When he’s done he informs me that, true to my suspicions, there is a lot of internal damage that my healing spells barely put a dent in, and on top of that Mr. Graves is still severely malnourished. “Well, he’s not in great shape, but we can fix most of this,” Newt says candidly. “It’s _very_ good you got him out when you did, Credence; I doubt he’d have survived much longer without help.” He lets me help with the healing spells, and together we try to repair the worst of the internal organ and bone damage.

“He’s currently under _dulcia soporia_ ,” I tell Newt when he questions why Mr. Graves doesn’t wake even as we put him through a rigorous course of regrowing spells, which are known to be quite painful, to strengthen his much-weakened bones. “I didn’t want him to be in pain as we moved.” 

“The sweet dreams spell?” Newt looks momentarily stunned. “Well. It is… _very_ impressive for you to pull off a spell of that caliber, Credence, and you should be proud of yourself. Now, tell me what else you’ve done.”

I briefly tell Newt how I escaped with Mr. Graves. I wince a little when I get to the part where I killed Grindelwald, but Newt just nods thoughtfully at intervals, listening even as he continues the healing spells. “You did the right thing,” he says when we’ve finished. “You’ve saved your own life and Mr. Graves’ and countless others. Now, I need you to lift the sleeping spell, so that we can get him to drink some potions.”

He goes off to get what he needs, and I expand the narrow bed so that I can curl myself around Mr. Graves’ sleeping form. With my heart racing, I lift the spell. His eyes slowly open, and when he sees me they fill with tears. “Credence,” he breathes. “Am I still dreaming?”

“No, you aren’t, Mr. Graves. This is real. I’m real.” I stroke his chest, as if to demonstrate just how real I am. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

His face contorts in remembered pain. “You saved me.” His eyes go wide with awe as the words spill from his mouth. “Oh, sweet Credence…you came for me.” 

“I had to. I love you, Mr. Graves, you must know I couldn’t leave you.”

He coughs and, despite everything, manages a smile. “Credence, my heart, you’ve shared my bed and saved my life. We’ve rescued each other, quite literally...don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Percival?”

“Anything you want, my love,” I tell him, the endearment slipping out before I can stop it.

He moans softly and his eyes flutter closed again as he leans his head against my chest. “I love you so much, I missed you so much…oh, God, I’m so tired…”

“Just hold on a little longer. Newt’s coming with some potions for you now, but once you take those, you can sleep as long as you like, and I’ll stay with you the whole time.” I cradle him in my arms, as he so often has done for me, and hold him close while I stroke his hair. “How badly are you hurting right now?” I ask, half-dreading the answer.

“Not as much as I have been,” he assures me. “My whole body aches, but it’s not half as terrible as it was when I was still…when he had me in those chains, and I was…” He trails off, and a broken sob escapes. “I can’t believe I was so weak. I let him catch me…oh, Credence, he hurt people, he hurt _you_ …”

“None of that was your fault,” I tell him firmly, just as Newt reappears with a tray of potions.

If he is at all shocked to see me in bed with Percival, he says nothing about it. We work our way through the bottles on his tray one by one: a blood replenishing potion, an anti-infection potion, a nutrition supplement potion mixed into a glass of broth, a strengthening solution, a potion to reduce inflammation, and various wound-healing elixirs to take care of anything that our healing spells missed. When all of that’s over with Newt pours out a measure of sweet-smelling, spring-green potion and lifts it to Percival’s lips. “All right, last one, it’s a mild dose of the Draught of Peace.”

“I don’t want that one.” Percival actually turns his head away and presses his face into my chest.

Newt sighs and says patiently, “I understand it’s not exactly a favorite potion of the aurors’, but you’re very clearly in pain and you’ve had a very trying ordeal. You need something to help you relax, it’s what any healer would prescribe—”

But I understand. “Percival, is that the stuff _he_ used to keep you sedated?” I ask him, very gently.

He shakes his head. “No—the one he used, well, I doubt it was healer-approved, but—but it had a similar effect and—and I—I _can’t_ —”

Newt won’t back down. “I understand, Graves, I do, but this really is medically necessary. You see, stress on the mind prolongs the healing process of the body, and—”

“Yeah,” I cut him off, “I see your point, but that’s kind of irrelevant if taking the stuff you’re prescribing just causes _more_ mental distress.”

“It’ll only be scary for a minute,” he says bracingly, “and once you’ve taken the dose, Graves, you won’t care. You’ll feel perfectly safe and calm, won’t that be nice?”

He’s speaking in a steady, bright, soothing tone—the same voice, I realize, that he must use on that epic menagerie out there—and on any other wounded animal it might be comforting. But it sounds just a touch too close to the falsely tender way that Grindelwald spoke, and Percival lets out a broken noise and shivers with fear in my arms.

“Stop talking to him like that,” I order Newt, and the sharpness of my voice seems to take him aback, in fact, he actually steps back and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “The obscurus is under control,” I tell him pointedly. “I’m not going to attack you, especially not after you’ve just saved Percival’s life, but I won’t let you force that stuff down his throat, either.”

“I’d never force potion down anyone’s throat,” Newt says, offended. He hands me the cup. “See if you can get him to take it, then.”

I sigh and put the little cup of potion on the nightstand. “Percival, talk to me,” I coax, carding my fingers through his hair in the way I know he likes. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. He sounds exhausted. For a moment he’s still, and then I feel him tensing up again. “I can’t…I can’t help it…I keep thinking I’m going to wake up chained to the floor, and see him standing over me…” He shivers. “I keep thinking he’s given me a daydream charm or he’s forcing me to see this somehow, just to torture me, and I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone—”

He breaks off and presses his face against my chest. I continue to stroke his hair as I reassure him, “No, you aren’t going to wake up in the dungeon. You’re here, and this is real, and _I’m_ real, and he’s dead. You’ll never be hurt like that again, I’d swear it on my life if that’s what will make you feel better.”

“I know you’re real, I _do_ , I just—can’t _think_.” He lets out a quivery, humorless laugh. “I—I keep thinking you’re going to disappear—it’s like my mind is trying to convince me we’re already dead—”

“Credence,” Newt breaks in, “you really must get him to—”

“Quiet,” I order him, putting a touch of obscurus into my voice, and Newt falls silent. To Percival, in a much softer tone, I say, “You’re safe now, I know it’s hard to believe, but you _are,_ and I’m here with you, and the man who did this to you is _dead,_ Percival, I killed him myself.” I stroke the limp strands of hair from his tired eyes and gently suggest, “What if you just try a sip of the potion Newt wants to give you, and not the whole dose?”

“It’s already a mild dose,” Newt protests.

I ignore him. “Just try a little bit. Just to see if it helps. For me, Percival? Please?” I know he’ll do it. But to show that he can trust me, I still wait for him to nod before I reach around him and get the cup of potion. 

When I hold it to his lips he carefully, delicately takes the tiniest sip possible. His eyes flutter shut in instant relief, and when they open again I can see from the look on his face that he’s already feeling better. “Oh,” he says, surprised. “That is…not at all like the prison drugs.”

Newt exhales, an _I told you so_ at the ready, and I shoot him a _not now_ look. “I’m going to go alert Madam President,” he announces, and heads for the ladder. “I can see he’s in good hands, but Credence, be sure to let me know if he deteriorates at all,” he calls over his shoulder before he disappears.

I offer Percival the cup again after Newt is gone, and he takes another hesitant sip. “If you want to stop, you can,” I remind him. He shakes his head. Slowly, sip by sip, he takes the full dose. “How do you feel now?” I ask when he’s finished and we’re laying down together, with his head pillowed on my chest and my arms wrapped protectively around him. We’ve slept like this before, but usually our positions were reversed.

“Better,” he admits with a sigh. “I thought it would make me dizzy and sleepy, but I just feel… _calm_. Safe.” He nuzzles his head against my chest. “Though now that I can think straight, it’s possible that _you_ are why I feel safe. It feels so good to be close to you again.”

“It feels good for me too.” I hold him close, the way he has done for me so many times. “I joined up with a homicidal madman, just so I could find you,” I confess with a laugh.

He laughs too, very quietly and shakily. “I can’t believe you did that. If I’d known I would have told you not to…but I’m very selfishly glad you did.”

“I’d do it again,” I tell him honestly. “Want to know what else I did?” He does, I tell him some of the things I’ve done over the last eight months. Honing my occlumency skill, learning wandless and wordless magic, controlling the obscurus, getting so good at disguises I briefly fooled Grindelwald himself into thinking I was Queenie. 

(I do not tell him about pretending to let myself be seduced by Grindelwald, the kisses, or how I’ve learned to fake and tamp-down and redirect my emotions to suit my purpose—he doesn’t need to know that; all of it will only hurt him, and I can’t bear the thought of doing that right now.)

I finish with the first and only mission I was sent on, and tell him how I faked my way through a testimony in front of the International Confederation of Wizards while disguised as Newt. “I even got President Picquery to grant us both full immunity,” I tell him proudly.

He cranes his head to look up at me. “Did you really? How’d you manage that?” I smile as I tell him about our talk after the symposium. “Oh, you clever boy,” he sighs when I’ve finished. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

He’s lax and easy in my arms now, his head heavy on my chest. “You can sleep, my love,” I tell him, and relish the dreamy sigh he lets out in response to the endearment. “I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

“I trust you,” he murmurs into my chest, and a few moments later his body sinks even deeper into mine, and I know he is asleep.

We’re safe now. I can’t quite believe it, but we are. And while I know that there is still a long road ahead of us, that there is still so much work to be done, right now all I want is to hold him and rest, secure in the knowledge that Grindelwald is _dead_ and we will never be tormented by him again.


	7. Good Enough for You to Love Me Too

The minute we get to the Scottish wizarding school, Percival is taken away and sequestered in the hospital wing. Meanwhile, Newt thoroughly examines me and pronounces me mostly unharmed. He gives me a week’s worth of Draught of Peace and makes me promise to take it every day until it runs out.

“I know it’s probably overkill, but you’ve been through a lot too,” he tells me as he watches take the first dose. “There’s nothing physically wrong with you, but I don’t want to take chances. You’re about to be put through the wringer again with investigations and I’ll not have them calling you dangerous if they see you get mildly upset.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him, after I’ve taken the potion, that it really doesn’t seem to have a whole lot of an effect on me. Maybe because I’ve spent so long tamping down even the slightest hint of fear in order to better focus on my rescue mission…but now that the mission is over, now that we’re both safe, I don’t even know _how_ to feel.

The investigation isn’t really that bad. Seraphina Picquery questions me herself, in front of two very stern-looking aurors. “I know we’ve discussed this before,” she begins as she apologetically passes me the dose of what I now know to be Veritaserum, “but I need it all for the record.”

I don’t protest. I take the potion, drop my mental shields, let her ask whatever she wants. She already knows the full story anyway, and she’s fair enough to let me skip over the more intimate and lurid parts of my history; for instance she establishes that I was in a romantic relationship with Percival, but doesn’t make me talk about all the nights I slept in his arms. I’m very thankful to her for that.

But when it comes time to talk about Grindelwald I don’t hold back, and after a few baseline questions, she takes the hint and probes deeper. I tell her every detail, even ones that I can’t help but think are irrelevant. I even tell her about how I faked being in love with him to get him to let me into the dungeons. She makes a face and mutters, “Oh, _that_ sounds like a memory to cherish,” when I get to the part about the kiss.

“It was terrible,” I say flatly, still under the influence of Veritaserum, and at that even the stone-faced bodyguards crack a smile.

It’s only when I’m halfway through that I realize I should have negotiated for clemency for Queenie as well, and I make sure to tell President Picquery in no uncertain terms that I never saw her on a mission. To my knowledge she never engaged in any no-maj-hunting or baiting, or did anything that would deserve imprisonment or worse. “Queenie was there for the same reason I was,” I tell her emphatically. “She just wants to be able to marry the man she loves. She never did anything wrong.”

“Unfortunately she did, she joined a cult led by a homicidal nutjob,” President Picquery reminds me dryly. “However, when we question her we’ll certainly take your testimony into account. It’s not likely she’ll do any real time.” She’s also kind enough to not ask me the name of Queenie’s no-maj lover, and I know then that she is, despite all appearances, truly on our side.

After my interrogation, I’m introduced to Professor Albus Dumbledore. Newt adores him, and happily stays with me while I demonstrate my magic for the professor. I’m ambivalent myself. He seems kind, but there is something slippery beneath the veneer of perfect patience and I’m not sure I trust him the way I trust Tina and Percival and even President Picquery. All three of them have earned my trust; this man, friendly as he may seem, has not.

But I’m very good, and polite, and I obediently show off my skills without holding back. I glamour-charm myself into a perfect duplicate of Newt. I make them tie me down and show that I can easily escape. I show off my wandless magic and my non-verbal spells and my occlumency. I save the best for last, and demonstrate perfect control over my obscurus.

“MACUSA will want to use him,” the professor tells Newt when I’ve finished, as if I’m not here.

“Let them try,” Newt replies coolly. To me, he adds, “You’ve been used enough, Credence. Don’t let Picquery bully you into working for MACUSA if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” I admit. “I just want Percival to be all right.”

~

In the end it is two days before I’m allowed to see Percival again. I spend most of that time with either Newt and Tina, who let me stay in their guest quarters with them when my room proves too big (and too cold and lonely) for me to stay there alone, or with Professor Dumbledore, who has taken over my magic lessons for the time being. He’s good, and friendly, and I don’t mind him teaching me. But he keeps trying to needle me for more, pressing me to open up to him, and I won’t. Right now, I think, I just _can’t._

Finally, after breakfast on the third day, Newt and Tina take me upstairs to the hospital wing. Percival has been set up at the end of the ward, with heavy white curtains separating his bed from the others’. “They curtains have been warded with sound-repelling charms,” Tina assures me, “so you two can talk privately.” She pats me on the arm before she lets me go.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I feel a wave of pure relief crash over me when I see that Percival is sitting up in bed, wearing a set of silk pajamas like the ones he has back at home, clean and freshly shaved and much less fragile than he was when I pulled him out. He’s still too thin, and for what reason I don’t know they haven’t cut his hair and it’s even longer than mine. But his skin has lost its waxy pallor, there’s not a single cut or bruise to be seen, his eyes aren’t sunken in and he doesn’t look as if he’s about to crumble into dust at any given moment, and I’ll take that as a victory.

I fly into his arms and he lets out a laugh and an _oof_ as he catches me and pulls me down beside him. “Hello to you too, sweetheart,” he says warmly, and cradles me in his lap just the way he used to back in New York. “Two days might not be much, compared to all the time that slimy German bastard kept us apart, but I’ll tell you what, the last forty-eight hours felt like forty-eight _years_ to me.”

“Me too,” I murmur into his neck. He doesn’t smell like himself; he smells like bland soap and healing salves. But his skin is every bit as soft as I remember, and when I nuzzle his neck he lets out a happy little sigh that melts my heart.

His arms tighten around me. “There’s so much we never got to do,” he says, a little wistfully. “So much I never got to show you…we’ll have to make up for lost time now, won’t we, my little miracle?”

“We will,” I confirm, pulling my face out of his neck so I can look into his eyes. “Percival…are you all right? I mean, I know they’re taking care of you, I can see that, but…”

He immediately understands what I’m referring to. “Did I scare you in Newt’s case the other day?” he asks gently. “When I wouldn’t take the calming potion and you had to persuade me that I wasn’t still locked up in Nurmengard? Did that frighten you, sweetheart?”

“I wasn’t afraid. I’m not really afraid of much anymore,” I say candidly. “I just felt…helpless, almost. Like I’d got you out of there, but really I hadn’t, and there was nothing I could do to help make you feel better.”

“I see.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Well. First of all, rest assured, I’m all right now. Well, no, I shouldn’t say—” He sighs, and his eyes briefly fall closed. When he opens them again he suddenly looks sad. “I’m not ever going to be the same as I was before. You understand that, right? I’m still afraid that he…that he isn’t gone, that he’s going to come for you, and I won’t be able to protect you. And I still have moments where I think, _any minute now this illusion will end and I’ll be back in that damn dungeon._ ”

“I don’t think that will ever go away,” I warn him. It hasn’t for me, and I’m the one who killed the bastard.

“Oh, I’d be shocked if it did. You still dream about your mother, don’t you, and about what happened in the subway—yes, I know about that—so I know you’ll understand…but listen, Credence, it’s not your job to fix all of that for me. You did beautifully the other day, but I promise you, that will not happen again.”

“I won’t hold it against you if it does,” I promise him, and then let out an _oof_ as he clutches me so tightly to his chest I can’t breathe.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair. “Oh, my beautiful boy, I love you so much.” He draws back and holds me at arm’s length. “Look at you! Where’s that shy, hunched little mouse I met back in New York, who was too afraid to cast a simple _lumos_?” His eyes sparkle with excitement and I know he doesn’t really mean that he liked me better when I was so weak and frightened all the time. “I can’t even put into words how proud I am of you, sweetheart. You’ve become a better man than I ever could’ve wished for, and I—”

He breaks off there, and when he doesn’t continue I reach up and cup his face in my hands, making him look at me. “What is it, my love?”

Percival’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure when I say that. “I could get used to that,” he murmurs with a smile. And then his eyes snap open, and there is a hint of something raw and desperate in them when he blurts out, “Credence—will you marry me?”

For a moment I’m too shocked to form words. When I do try to speak I choke on my own tongue, and what comes out is a strangled, “ _Can_ we?”

“Oh, darling, _yes_. Yes, we can,” Percival tells me excitedly, gripping my hands in his. “If you managed to wrangle an immunity promise from Seraphina, and that insane dictator is dead, and you’re a proper wizard now…then really, what’s stopping us?”

“The fact that you’re in a hospital bed?” I squeak out, unable to come up with a better argument than that.

His head tips back as he laughs. “Oh, Credence. Sweetheart, I didn’t mean right now…” He hesitates when he sees something in my eyes that he likes. “Is that a yes, then? I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” I choke out, “yes, I love you, _yes_ , I’ll marry you— _yes_ —” And suddenly I’m crying, months and months of pent-up and carefully-redirected emotion spilling out unchecked, and I bury my face in his neck and sob helplessly while he holds me, alternately stroking my hair and rubbing my back, murmuring tender sweet nothings until I’m finally quiet again.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says regretfully when I’ve finally calmed down enough to breathe.

“You didn’t. It’s just been—it’s all so _much_.” I press my face into his neck, suddenly feeling unbearably vulnerable. “Percival, I—I have to tell you something. Before we—you might—I mean. It—it might change your mind about wanting to marry me.”

“I very much doubt that, sweetheart.” He slips a hand under my hair to gently trace across the back of my neck with his fingertips. “Tell me, angel,” he coaxes softly, soothing me with his voice and his touch. “I promise, whatever it is, I will not leave you.”

“I had to—to pretend—” I swallow hard. My mouth is painfully dry, my heart racing so fast I think it might explode. “When I was trying to get you out—while I was staying in Nurmengard—I—I had to—I could tell he liked me, and I needed him to let me into your cell—I couldn’t take the wards down by myself, or if I did I would’ve set off alarms, I’m good at curse-breaking but I’m not _that_ good—I—I—Percival, I’m so sorry—I _kissed him_ , on purpose, but—I never wanted him, I swear, I just did it to get you out—”

“Sh-h-h.” He squeezes me gently against him. “It’s all right. I understand. You don’t have to tell me anything else. You haven’t hurt me, precious. You did the right thing.” He rocks me, the same way he used to back when we were in New York and my mother used to send me into the streets to sleep beaten and broken, back when my only role in our relationship was to swoon in his arms and let him take care of me.

As much as I hated living in that church, some part of me misses those days, and then I’m deeply disgusted with myself for even thinking that for a second. _I’m a real wizard now, not a trembling child; if I could stay strong for all those months in order to fool Grindelwald, why can’t I be strong for the man I love now?_

“Oh, sweetheart,” Percival murmurs into my hair, “you _have_ been strong for me, more than you know.” I blush, hard, as I realize that I’ve just said all that out loud, indicating that my control truly _is_ shot because good Lord, if I'd done that in front of Grindelwald I'd be dead right now. “I don’t know what all he put you through, Credence, but I don’t imagine for a second that you had it any easier than I did.”

“I did,” I protest, “he put me in a proper bedroom and fed me and let me do whatever I wanted—I had it very easy, I really did—”

“Credence, you spent the better part of a year rigorously training yourself to do advanced magic with very little help, afraid to confide in anyone, all while in fear of your own life as well as someone very important to you.” He holds me back at arm’s length again so he can look me in the face. “You did things that senior aurors have trouble pulling off. You outwitted a man known for his ability to bend people to his will. None of what you did was ‘easy,’ Credence. I owe you my life, and so does Queenie, whether she understands it or not. If you _weren’t_ feeling a little drained right now, frankly I’d be worried. I’ve got half a mind to make them put you up in here as well.”

I shake my head at that. “No…Newt checked me out. I’m all right. Mostly.” I manage a little smile. “He gave me calming draughts too.” I don’t mention that I don’t think it helped. Not much, anyway, if my current, total lack of control over my emotions is anything to go off of.

“Good. That’s good.” Percival cups his hand around the back of my neck and gently presses our foreheads together. “Sweetheart, I love you and I want to marry you no matter what you did while we were in that horrible place. I want to take you home to New York, hell, I want to take you back to work with me. I want to make love to you every night and wake up to you every morning and never have to worry about whether or not you’re safe again.”

“I want that too,” I admit, tears coming to my eyes again.

Percival leans in and brushes his lips across my cheeks, gently kissing my tears away. “Then let me love you,” he says softly, and then his lips descend onto mine and every one of my painful thoughts melts from my mind as a bone-deep, glowing warmth envelops my entire body.


	8. Where I Lay It's You I Keep

We end up staying in Scotland for three more weeks. It’s perhaps overkill, but they want to ensure that there’s no lingering curses or spells on us, that we aren’t “plants” from Grindelwald. Besides, President Picquery and all the other magical world leaders want time to confirm he’s dead. I don’t blame them for that one bit.

Percival is cleared to leave the hospital wing after a few days and we spend most of our time sequestered in the room that was initially designated just for me. We were supposed to have separate rooms, but he put a stop to that pretty quickly. On the day he moves in he pulls me into his arms and kisses the breath out of me the minute the door closes. “You’ll never sleep alone again, if I have anything to say about it,” he promises me.

I do spend some time out of our room, roaming the very pretty grounds and doing magic lessons with Dumbledore. I can see why Newt loves him, he's fun and friendly and I bet the kids at the school consistently cite him as their favorite...but I don't trust charisma anymore, and I willingly let him show me a few tricks (you can never know too much combat magic, as I've unfortunately learned the hard way) but keep a very careful cushion of emotional distance.

It’s mid-July before we’re allowed to leave, and the night before we portkey back to America, Dumbledore throws us a farewell dinner. Because it’s a special day Queenie, who has been kept mostly isolated up to now, is allowed to join us, and President Picquery even summons Nagini from Paris where she’s been staying with Theseus. She quickly forgives me for the way we parted when she finds out what I’ve really been up to, and she’s the first to give me a rib-crushing hug when Percival announces our engagement.

Later I take her out for a walk around the grounds, just the two of us, and apologize for not telling her my plan. “Don’t,” she says firmly. “I’m no spy, and if you had told me I might’ve not been convincing enough. You did right.”

“But if I’d told you—”

“—nothing would have changed. I still would’ve been hurt that you left and worried out of my mind while you were away.” She squeezes my hand. “You did good, Credence. You’re literally a hero.”

“I don’t know about that.” I tell her, as briefly as I can, about some of the things I did while I was in Nurmengard. Dispassionately watching him torture prisoners, pretending to be in love with him, _kissing_ him, manipulating Queenie to get her to leave with me.

“And what was the result?” Nagini asks when I finish. “Those prisoners? They’re going to be liberated, and survive, _because of you_ . Grindelwald? Dead, can’t hurt anyone, _because of you_. Queenie? She’s here, safe, will probably get off easy, _because of you_. And Percival Graves? _You saved his life_ , Credence. I really don’t think he’s going to hold a couple of kisses against you, especially since he _must_ know you didn’t mean them.”

I want to believe her. So I do. I hug her close and let the a few tears escape as I whisper, “I missed you so much.”

She hugs me back and lets me draw as much strength from her as I need, just as she always has. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, and I don’t need Queenie’s mind-reading powers to know she means it.

~

Ultimately, Queenie Goldstein is released from custody with the understanding that 1) she will live with Tina and Newt (who is now a dual citizen and currently staying in New York, so that shouldn’t be a problem) and 2) she will see a healer who specializes in legilimency, to help her recover properly. The day we leave Scotland, she has still not forgiven me.

“I still helped you in the end,” I point out. “I proved that obscurials aren’t dangerous, and President Picquery is going to amend Rappaport’s Law to allow for ‘immediate family and spouses’ to know about magic, isn’t that enough?”

“You know everything you said in that symposium is going to be thrown out, because it was testimony under duress,” she retorts. “Me and Jacob are never gonna see each other again and it’s on you.”

 _Hardly fair,_ I think as we all cluster around the portkey that will take us back to America, _considering that I’m not the one who betrayed him by joining up with Mr. Magic-is-Might._ But I let it go. I can’t make her forgive me.

Instead I focus on Nagini, who gives me one last hug and makes me promise I’ll write to her. “I’ll wear out half the pigeons in New York,” I assure her. “You’re going to be _drowning_ in letters. Make up for lost time, right?” She laughs, but when I let her go, just before the portkey takes me away, I see tears in her eyes and have to fight to not cry myself; I know she’ll miss me as much as I miss her.

“I’ll come see you soon,” she promises, right before I’m whisked away.

~

Percival does not take me to his apartment when we get home. He takes me upstate instead, to his old family home and insists Newt and the Goldstein girls stay with us “just temporarily.” The house has been kept magically clean, and I have my first encounter with a house-elf, which is as disturbing as one would expect. But the grounds are beautiful and the house is spacious, and it feels nice to be in someone’s _home_ after spending the better part of the last year in castles.

The first night we’re back, as we lay in bed together Percival asks me a question I’ve been waiting for him to ask for the last three weeks: “When do you want to get married?”

“As soon as we can,” I say shamelessly. “Tomorrow, even, if we can.”

He laughs at my eagerness. “Unless you want to floo back into the city we’ll have to wait a few days. I’ll send Seraphina a pigeon first thing in the morning and we’ll get the necessary paperwork.”

“Okay. Do that. What can I do?”

He rolls over on his back, pulling me with him so that my head rests on his chest, and plays with my hair until my eyes begin to get heavy. “You can tell me,” he eventually decides, “what you want for our wedding.”

“I want to be your husband,” I tell him sleepily.

Percival laughs again and gently squeezes me to his chest. “Sweetheart, that’s a given. I just meant do you want something elaborate, something simple…do you want it to just be us, or do you want our friends there for the ceremony?”

I think it over. “I guess Newt and the girls should get to be there. And…well, no, that wouldn’t work.” He presses me until I admit, “I wish Nagini could be here, but she’s in Paris…it would take so long to get here…”

“No longer than it took us to get here today. I’ll firecall Theseus and have it arranged for her to be portkeyed over here by Friday. Anyone else?”

“No. I don’t care about the wedding itself, I really don’t. The only thing I care about is being yours, forever. That’s all that really matters.”

“My mother would roll in her grave,” he says with a laugh, “to hear a future Graves say that. Not to mention she’d be furious with me for proposing to you without a ring. But you’re right. The only thing that matters is that we’re together.” He squeezes me close again. “Sleep now, sweetheart. We’ll get it all arranged in the morning.”

~

Within two days, the arrangements are made. Newt and Tina, the only “wedding veterans” among us, promptly rise to the occasion. Newt commissions Jacob to make us a wedding cake and transfigures a few fallen branches into a lovely arch for our ceremony. Since I didn’t take anything with me when I fled Nurmengard, I’m still mostly reliant on Percival for clothes, a defect that Tina fixes by taking me shopping in the city and helping me transfigure one of the secondhand outfits into a suit for the wedding.

Nagini arrives the night before, as does President Picquery, who comes bearing a load of paperwork for us to fill out and a certificate that will function as a one-time ordination for a friend of ours to officiate the ceremony. Nagini sees that paper and promptly volunteers her services. Jacob Kowalski turns up and, since the amendment that would allow him to be here is still under review, Newt spins some story about him being Tina’s squib cousin.

“I’ve _met_ Mr. Kowalski,” President Picquery reminds him, exasperated. “But officially, yes. As far as I know, Tina’s squib cousin made the wedding cake. Put it on the record.” She rolls her eyes, but she seems unable to hold back a smile. Newt, I’ve noticed, seems to have that effect on people.

Tina tries to rope Queenie into helping cook dinner after we rehearse the simple ceremony, but the minute Queenie sees Jacob she takes refuge in Newt’s case and refuses to come out. “That Legilimency Healer has got their work cut out for them,” Tina grumbles as we make dinner together. “You’d think she’d forgotten that all of this was _her_ choice.”

“I think she has,” I say thoughtfully, watching in awe as Tina charms carrots to slice themselves. If I tried to do that I’d probably slice the counter in half. “I think she’s gotten it into her head somehow that if I hadn’t…done what I did…the Statute of Secrecy would be disbanded and we could just do whatever we want. But you know as well as I do, if _he_ won…Jacob wouldn’t be Queenie’s husband. He’d be her slave,”I finish sadly, and Tina nods her grim agreement. “She’ll heal in time,” I say, trying to convince myself more than Tina.

~

The ceremony is fairly simple. Percival calls it a “handfasting,” which involves our friends tying cords around our joined hands, signifying that we are “bound together” and they support the union. That part is lovely, and Percival can’t seem to contain a giant, lovestruck smile that eventually turns into a very un-manly giggle which, in turn, makes me smile too. But when we get to the vows…

He earnestly looks into my eyes and squeezes my hand beneath the cords. “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give,” he begins, and oh God, I already know I’m going to cry, I can _feel it_. “You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in the ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”

A thousand images burst through my mind all at once. Percival holding me as I cry, hand-feeding me after healing my scars and wrapping me up in soft blankets, teaching me to cast my first spell, that precious first kiss in the alley, the way he reacts when I call him _my love_ … Tears well in my eyes and I desperately fight to keep them from spilling over. (I know I’m going to fail.)

“I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and tell no strangers our grievances.” He reaches up with his free hand and gently brushes a stray piece of hair from my wet eyes as he finishes, “This is my wedding vow to you, this is a marriage of equals.”

Nagini nods to me with an understanding smile (she _knows_ I’m about to cry, I’m sure of it) and it’s my turn to recite the vows. “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself,” I say, trying to speak strongly and clearly as Percival did, and failing spectacularly, “but while we both wish it, I…I give you that which is mine to give…”

His eyes seek out mine, warm and filled with love and joy, and that’s it, I’m gone. I try to keep going, but my throat closes and I shake my head, the tears streaming freely down my face. _I’m sorry_ , I mouth to Percival, who must be so terribly embarrassed to be marrying such a baby.

But he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. Instead, he reaches up with the hand that isn’t bound to mine and tenderly dries my tears with magic. “When you’re ready, sweetheart,” he says kindly, prompting a little chorus of _aww_ -s from our friends.

It takes a minute for me to pull myself together, and even when I do, my voice quivers the whole time I recite my vows. When I finally get to “This is my wedding vow to you, this is a marriage of equals,” I can’t help but cry again.

Eventually I manage to control myself enough to continue. We exchange rings, slip our hands free of the cords and hold up the knot to show our bond. Nagini ends with the traditional, “I invite you to seal your vows with a kiss,” and Percival _certainly_ takes advantage of that invitation, dipping me back like we’re in a no-maj picture show and kissing me soundly in front of God, country, and all our friends.

He takes me aside for a moment after the ceremony to recover privately, and spends a good ten minutes making sure I’m all right. “I just got overwhelmed,” I admit quietly. “I couldn’t quite believe it was…it was _real._ That _you’re_ real, and you _love me_.”

“But I do,” he assures me. “I love you more than anything, Credence, and…” He holds up our linked hands, showing off our wedding rings. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever. It’s real, my heart. We did it.”

“We did,” I agree, tears coming to my eyes again, and I let out a dreamy sigh when he pulls me in and kisses me for all he’s worth.

All in all, it’s an almost-perfect day. Queenie skips both the ceremony and the celebratory dinner, sulking in Newt’s case and avoiding Jacob. But Nagini, Tina and Newt, Theseus, Jacob, and the President stay the whole time, and Percival serves a perfect home-cooked meal for our wedding feast: hearty beef stew, fried potatoes, fresh bread, and hot chocolate, made all the more perfect by the fact that only the two of us know what it means…and the fact that he spends most of the dinner hand-feeding me, even with our guests right there watching us and teasing us about being “nauseatingly cute.”

“You all can do what you like,” he announces when dinner is over, the toasts have been made, and we’ve each eaten at least two slices of Jacob's delicious cake. “I’m going to take my husband upstairs now, and I don’t want any interruptions for _at least_ twenty-four hours, do I make myself clear?”

“Even if the house is on fire?” Tina quips.

“You’re an auror, Goldstein. Just cast a good _aguamenti_ and let me get on with my wedding night,” he retorts, and the others laugh (except Theseus, who wolf-whistles).

I can’t stop blushing even as he leads me up the stairs. “Did you have to say that?” I murmur petulantly. “Now they’ll _know_.”

“They were going to think what they’re thinking anyway,” he says dismissively, “and meanwhile, we’ve got a full day now to do whatever we like.” We get to the master bedroom and, before I can reply, he scoops me up in his arms. I squeak in surprise, and he says with a grin, “This is a no-maj tradition, is it not?”

I nod shyly, and let him carry me inside, lock the door with a wordles spell, and lay me out on the bed. “Are you going to take me now?” I ask, a little thrill going through me at the thought.

He lays down beside me, still dressed, and rests a hand on my stomach. “Do you want me to, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes carefully searching mine.

“I think I do,” I tell him, my heart racing but my voice steady. “I want you. I have for a long time now, I just…I don’t think I knew how to tell you.”

He surrenders with a low groan, his head dropping into the crook of my neck. “Oh, you beautiful man. You don’t _know_ how badly I want you,” he breathes against my skin.

“Then show me,” I plead, and then his lips are on mine and I’m on _fire_.

His touch is unfathomably gentle as he undresses me, kissing and stroking every patch of skin he uncovers. My skin feels as if it lights up in every spot where his kisses land, and for a moment I’m stunned, the sudden, unexpected outward revelation of pleasure so strong it sucks the breath from my lungs. He trails hot, messy, open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of my chest, over my belly, down the sharp ridge of my hipbone, and I let out whimpers and moans that I silently pray he doesn’t mistake for pain.

“Take your clothes off,” I beg him when I can speak again.

He does, standing up and stripping for me with transparent delight, and oh, lord in heaven, his body is an absolute work of art. Even now, when he’s still thin and scarred from his time in Nurmengard, he is still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I stare at his body, shock and awe coursing through my already lit-up veins, and he laughs when he sees my eyes glued to his pecs. “You can touch me if you like, precious,” he says as he curls himself around me. “I’m all yours.”

“ _Yes_ ,” I moan helplessly, already lost in the sensation of his bare skin against mine and his magical mouth against my neck.

He takes his time taking me apart, driving me into a state of nearly-unbearable ecstasy with his tender caresses and hot, wet kisses. He sucks messy red marks into my neck and chest, tweaks my nipples with those unfairly skilled fingers, slots his thigh between my legs and teases me until I’m right at the very edge and nearly sobbing with my need for release.

And then, only then, does he still and whisper in my ear, “If you aren’t sure, please tell me. You don’t owe me this because it’s our wedding night. If you have any doubts, I’ll stop right now.”

“If you stop I’ll—I’ll _die_ , I swear, or—no—I’ll turn into the obscurus,” I threaten, and to my immense delight he laughs instead of pulling back in fear.

“Can’t have that, can we,” he teases me, and kisses down my body again only so he can take me into his mouth.

The universe explodes. Every cell in my body is _singing_. My soul itself has been waiting for this moment. I knew if we were intimate tonight he would make me feel good, but this…I was not prepared to drown in waves of pleasure, not prepared to _burn_ like this. Honestly it almost feels like I _did_ turn into the obscurus because I’ve lost all awareness of my surroundings. The only thing I know is Percival, and the way he’s making me feel, and my overwhelming, _life-changing_ love for him.

When my head eventually clears I’m reclining in his arms, his eyes hungrily roaming over my still-quivering body. “I could watch you come for _hours_ ,” he says, and actually licks his lips at the thought of it. “Tell me, sweetheart, how did that feel?”

“Incredible,” I breathe, already reaching for him. “More. _Please_.”

He rolls us over so I’m underneath him. “Oh, my angel…I was hoping you’d say that.”

He takes his time opening me up, preparing me to take him inside. Given that I’m already relaxed from the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave me it doesn’t take long before I’m ready and openly pleading with him to touch me, _take_ me, and he willingly obliges. “I can’t believe you’re giving me this,” he whispers against my neck as he pushes his way inside. “I can’t believe you’re letting me have you like this.”

“I’m yours, Percival,” I tell him candidly. “I have been since the beginning.”

He loves that reply so much that he kisses me, passionate and slow and _hot_ , and by the time I’ve recovered my breath he’s deep inside of me and I’ve lost all ability to form words. Little moans and gasps and cries spill unchecked from my trembling lips, my entire body a live-wire of pleasure that feels as if it sparks when touched. 

He starts off slow but almost as if he can’t help it his thrusts get harder, faster, more intense, and every time he hits something inside me that sends fireworks cracking across my skin. The sound of his raw, aching gasps and grunts further fuels my own rapture and I cling to him desperately, wrap my legs around him tight and draw him deeper into me, _more, more, more_ falling from my lips in a breathless, agonizing plea until—until— _oh God_ —

With an uninhibited shriek of his name I come again, my back bowing into a perfect arch and my vision whiting out, dragging him down into the spiral of pleasure with me. I hear his own breathless cry as he lets go and we fall together, and he tries not to collapse on top of me but I’m wrapped around him so tightly he has no choice. I _love_ it. I feel so safe crushed underneath him like this.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair as we come down from the high, quivering in each other’s arms. “My sweet Credence… _my husband_ …I love you so much. I will never, _ever_ let you go.”

I believe him. Oh, I believe him. And I’m never going to let him go again either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/25/23/96/252396372f7ac42d8d0529946f0f493f.jpg) are the wedding vows, shamelessly stolen from pinterest. I doubt anyone thinks I actually wrote that but, y'know. don't want to lose points for not citing my sources ;P


	9. I Hate to See You Tremble

To my absolute delight, Percival does not go back to work right after our wedding. President Picquery gave him some time off “to recover,” but really, I think, she wanted to give us some time. Because if you think about it, we haven’t _had_ much time, Percival and I, not really. We met in September, and then the first week of December he was taken hostage by Grindelwald and we were separated for over a year. So, if you don’t count the time we were separated, we’ve really only _been together_ for a total of about three months.

As promised our first 24 hours are uninterrupted, and everyone who was staying with us has permanently left by the end of the week. So finally we are fully alone with each other, for the first time _ever_ , with no one to interrupt or scold or tell us we can’t do just what we like. And so that’s just what we do.

Mornings are pleasantly lazy. Sometimes he’ll have Bobbie, the house-elf, bring us coffee or breakfast in bed. Other days he’ll spell the door shut and we’ll make love until we’re sweaty and messy and so pleasantly tired we end up falling back to sleep for an hour or two.

When we do get up, usually we end up curled up together somewhere, either on the porch swing if it’s rainy, or on one of the delicate iron benches littered around the decadent gardens if it’s sunny. On hot days we go swimming in the pond behind the house…naked, always, because who’s going to stop us? We usually end up having floaty, lazy sex when we swim, each sensation heightened by the feeling of cool water on our bare skin.

I’ve never known pleasure like this before. I’ve never felt so _loved_ before. During those lonely, painful days of studying and spying in Nurmengard, I held onto the few real memories I had with Percival before he was taken—those nights when he healed my wounds and kissed my tears away and kept me warm—and I told myself, _just hold on, you can have that again, that is as good as it gets_ …but oh, lord in heaven, I was wrong. The tentative joy of our first kiss feels like child’s play in comparison to the intensity of what we have now that we’re both _free_.

There are still hints of the real world trying to push their way in, of course. Percival gets the paper delivered and actually reads it every day, and I catch glimpses and teases of news as well—namely, distressing rumors that despite the assurance of the governments that he’s no longer a threat, Grindelwald is still alive and biding his time. I shiver with anger and fear when I see these articles, and have to remind myself _he is dead, you saw the body, you killed him yourself._

Percial will occasionally wake with a cry from a painful nightmare, and every morning I watch him take the Draught of Peace, still prescribed by his healers, fearing that if he goes too long between doses he’ll lose himself to fear the way he did in Newt’s case. I have nightmares too, vivid ones, in which I go to his cell to take him away and find him already dead, or find Grindelwald’s transfigured dead body instead.

So sometimes instead of our usual morning routine we hold each other, and let ourselves tremble and cry and fall apart in each other’s arms until we feel strong again. We put up wards around the house, but we still go outside on those days. We still go swimming in the pond, walk around the gardens, cuddle on the porch swing, and remind ourselves that yes, there is still beauty in the world—maybe just enough to repair the ugliness wrought by people like Grindelwald.

We take care of each other. On the days that I feel sick and scared and can’t bring myself to eat or sleep, he feeds me by hand and tucks me into bed, and reassures me that no one will ever punish me again for needing food or rest. On the days that he doesn’t want to let me more than an arm’s length away, I apparate just out of sight and then immediately return to his side, to show him that I will _always_ come back to him. We heal together. It’s slow and sometimes it hurts, but that’s to be expected.

What matters, at the end of the day, is that we are together, and as long as we are together, we know we’re both _safe_.

~

One month of honeymoon-like bliss stretches into two, then almost three. Percival grows strong again, aided by an abundance of available food and the truly extensive course of potions he takes every day. Over time the raw emotion that overwhelmed me after I left Nurmengard begins to temper into something more manageable, and I’m able to control myself again almost as well as when I was Grindelwald’s “pet.” The obscurus is so well controlled that Percival often forgets it’s there, until I strategically bring it out during magic lessons.

And then the day comes when he tells me that he needs to go back to work soon. Instinctively, I beg him to stay home. I _know_ he’s tough, I _know_ it’s an irrational fear, but the thought of him being out there, where his job description is “put yourself in the path of evil wizards so they don’t kill civilians,” makes me sick.

But we make it work. He promises not to go until I’m ready to let him. I promise that if he really wants to go back, I won’t stand in his way. He holds me on his lap and cards his hand through my hair, the way he knows I like, and whispers against my neck, “Let me take you to bed, darling. Let me show you all the lovely incentives I have to come back home to you.”

And this is where we are when the world ends: tangled up together in that wonderful soft bed, the windows open to let the late-September breeze cool our flushed, sweaty skin, Percival holding me in his lap in a bruising grip as I ride him like it’s my sole purpose in life. “ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful,” he moans as I bounce in his lap, taking him inside me as deep as physically possible. “Sweet Morgana, Credence— _fucking hell_ —forget MACUSA, _you’ll_ be the death of me.”

It’s a nice compliment, but— “You’re talking,” I gasp, shuddering with pleasure as I clench around him, “ _way_ too much right now.”

“You too,” he growls, and suddenly I’m on my back and he’s taking me so hard it almost _hurts_ but oh, _God_ it feels so incredible. Everything is fire and heat and pleasure and _Percival_ , my Percival, my husband, my _world_ , and he’s so good to me, oh God, _so good_ —

The heat building inside me explodes when I feel him come, and I’m helpless to do anything but follow suit. I actually _scream_ when the orgasm hits me, my entire body jerking as if I’m having convulsions, and hearing Percival’s roar of satisfaction only extends my pleasure.

He holds me in his arms afterwards and strokes my hair while I lie there with my head on his chest. He loves this part, he’s told me so a hundred times, and I believe him. I love it too, it’s so unbelievably intimate lying here skin-to-skin like this, feeling his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls underneath me. “Mercy Lewis, sweetheart, is it always going to be like this?” he says, breathless and awed, and I know it’s a rhetorical question.

 _Please, God,_ I pray silently as I lie there, safe and relaxed and flawlessly happy in my husband’s arms, _please, let it always be like this._

I’m still trembling with the aftershocks of our lovemaking when there’s a knock at the door. We stare at each other for a moment, briefly too stunned to react, and then in literal seconds we’re up, dressed, and staking out the front door. “Merlin’s actual balls, it’s Sera,” he says, sounding utterly shocked.

After the identity and security checks are completed, we all herd into the office that Percival has not used once since we moved in here. “I hate to do this to you,” President Picquery says regretfully. “I wanted you to have at least another month, Percy. I’m so sorry.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Credence and I were just talking this evening about how I’ll need to go back to work soon.”

“That’s just it…” She sighs heavily. “We need you both. Or, well, we _will_.”

My body has already begun to grasp that something is very wrong. My heart is racing, adrenaline spiking. The obscurus presses against its bindings, silently letting me know _I’m here, I’ll protect you, just say the word._ My skin suddenly feels cold. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” President Picquery drops a folder on Percival’s desk and sighs again. She looks us both up and down, and it can’t be my imagination that her eyes linger sorrowfully over me. “Gellert Grindelwald is alive,” she says quickly, as if it’ll be easier to hear if she doesn’t drag it out.

I freeze in place, my vision suddenly going white. She’s lying, she must be—but no—she doesn’t lie—she isn’t an imposter—she must be wrong—but she’s _never_ wrong—

“What the _fuck_ , Sera,” Percival demands flatly. My sentiments exactly.

“He was alive when we found him,” she explains, “but only just. His heartbeat was so faint we almost sent the body for incineration. But once we realized he was alive, well, the International Confederation had no choice but to treat his injuries, try to get him healthy enough to stand trial. He was comatose for months and we thought he was going to die anyway. But two nights ago, he suddenly awakened and tore up half the hospital in his quest to escape. We didn’t expect it, and—and—I’m so sorry—we weren’t able to contain him.”

And at that, something inside me breaks, and the room explodes around us as I black out and the obscurus takes over.

~

“I’m sorry,” I cry into my hands, curling away from Percival when he tries to touch me. “I should've been able to control it, I was just so upset—oh God—President Picquery’s going to kill me, isn’t she—”

“Sera isn’t going to kill you,” Percival assures me for the hundredth time. “She wants to talk to you, as soon as we’re done here, actually. She wants to apologize for upsetting you.” At that I only cry harder, because I’m sure I hurt her and I should be apologizing to her, not the other way around.

I’ve been crying for a solid half-hour. Percival was able to soothe me enough to contain the obscurus, and together he and Newt were able to get me down to the medical bay in Newt’s case, but since then I’ve been pretty much inconsolable.

Newt, of course, was summoned after the obscurus erupted. I’ve never had an explosion quite that bad, and my body is showing the signs: my hands are badly burned and I’ve got open weals all over my chest and back where the obscurus burst through my skin. He checked me over with a course of diagnostic spells, and has now been trying to heal my wounds and get a dose of calming draught in me for the last ten minutes. The problem is that now I don’t trust myself to let either him or Percival close enough to actually do anything to help me.

“Credence, really,” Newt protests over the sound of my sobs, “if you just let me treat you, you’ll feel much better, I promise.”

I shake my head. “Don’t touch me, I might explode again.”

“You won’t, darling,” Percival assures me gently. He reaches out and, with some difficulty, manages to extract my hand from its iron grip on my knee. He very gently caresses the back of my arm with his fingertips and says, “See, you’re still human. Very much human, and very much in pain, which is why you need to let Newt help you.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” I say through a choked sob, and yank my hand back. “Or you, either—get _away_ —” I long for the comfort of his touch, but the fear of hurting him is real, and if I lose him I know that I, too, will forever be lost.

“Sh-h-h.” Percival reaches out again, and this time when his arms close around me I selfishly let him pull me to his side. “You know what, Credence? As soon as your obscurus saw how frightened I was, it pulled right back. You don’t have to worry about hurting me, I promise.” He takes the cup of potion from Newt and puts it to my lips. “Here, drink this, sweetheart…that’s it. Give it a second to kick in…good.” He waits for me to relax, for my tears to slow and then cease, before he eases himself away from me so that Newt can tend my wounds.

With the calming draught in me I feel a little less volatile, and allow Newt to pull off the tattered remains of my shirt to look at the places where the obscurus burst out of my skin. “It’s never done that before,” I tell him as he begins to heal the wounds with a thick purple liquid that stings and smokes.

“Last time your obscurus released itself under duress,” he reminds me, “you were covered in open wounds already. This has happened before, Credence. You just didn’t know what it was back then.”

Percival lets out a little growl. “ _I_ should’ve known that,” he murmurs angrily, and as our eyes meet I know we’re both thinking of Ma.

Newt tends to my burned hands next. “Unfortunately, magically-inflicted burns are going to take some time to heal. But I’ll do what I can.” He massages a thick orange paste into the blistered skin and wraps my hands with soft linen bandages, then gives me another cup of potion. “That’ll help with the pain. I wish I had some murtlap essence on hand instead, but unfortunately I’m fresh out just now.”

“It’s fine.” The burns don’t hurt, not really. What hurts is the knowledge that I’ve shattered everyone’s trust. Even a good calming potion can’t take away my guilt over _that_.

Percival waits for Newt to finish healing me before he comes over and holds me again. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmurs into my hair, his hands splaying out over my back as if he needs to touch as much of my skin as possible. “I’m so sorry this is happening. I can’t…” He lets out a trembling, weak laugh. “I can’t believe it either.”

“He’s going to come here, isn’t he.” It’s not a question. I _know_.

“I expect we’ll be at the top of his list,” Percival agrees quietly. “And now that we know he can survive an attack from an extremely powerful obscurial…I’m scared, Credence. I won’t lie to you, I’m scared.”

“Me too,” I whisper into his neck. “Oh, Percival, me too…if I can’t protect you this time…” I shiver at the thought.

“Let’s think of it this way,” he says suddenly, drawing back and holding me at arm’s length so we can see each other. “Let’s just think…you and I each took him on, all on our own. And we both came close to beating him, but he only just got away…so, you know what? I bet that’s why Sera came to us together…because if we take him on together, we _can_ take him down.”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping, yes.” I jump about a foot and draw away from Percival, not wanting President Picquery to see us snuggling. “Oh, go on,” she says with a wave of her hand, “it’s not like I don’t know that you two can’t keep your hands off each other.”

Percival rolls his eyes at her, but does reach out and gently draw me back to his side. I’m glad, even if I won’t admit it; I feel much better with his arm around me. “Sera,” he says pleasantly, “I’d like it on the record that if you weren’t my best friend of over twenty years, president or not I’d kick your ass from here to next Sunday for what you did.”

“I understand,” she says immediately. “And trust me, the Confederation is doing a _swell_ job of that in your stead, Percy. Germany and Austria in particular were all for transparency from the beginning.”

“As damn well they should have been, and you too,” Percival growls. “Forget the fact that you just severely hurt my husband—which, by the way, you and I are gonna have a fucking _talk_ about that later—don’t you think that maybe the public deserved to know that he was recovering, not dead?”

“Queenie,” I say suddenly, “does _she_ know?” I haven’t seen her since we came home. I have no idea if she'll be terrified to hear the news, or if she'll be trying to break out and join him. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she knows. She and Mr. Kowalski have been moved to a safe house as well, and when we’re done here, Newt and Tina will be sent there to join them.” She pauses and then adds, “By order of MACUSA—and truly, this was out of my hands, I’m so sorry—you, Percival Graves, have officially been reinstated as security director.”

“I don’t suppose they’re giving me a choice,” he says through gritted teeth, his arm tightening protectively around me.

“No. The only choice you have to make is whether or not you want _him_ ,” she indicates me, “to come with you.” Before he can shout at her she quickly tells him, “Now before you blow up on me—sorry, Credence, that was a poor choice of words—just hear me out. You’ve just said yourself that you two have a better chance of taking on Grindelwald together than apart.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to use Credence as bait, or throw him into the line of fire!” Percival says angrily. “Do you have any idea what this man is capable of? Because I don’t think you do!” He gestures angrily to me. “Credence can tell you, he saw what that man did, over and over—just _because he felt like it!_ That bastard used to come into my cell, all hours of the night, carve me up like a fucking jack-o-lantern, heal me, and do it all over again just to see how loud he could make me scream. Did they tell you _that_ in your debriefings?” He turns back to me. “Tell her,” he snarls. “Tell her how good I looked when you found me, Credence. And then while you’re at it tell her _how_ you got into my cell—that he was going to use you to torture me—”

Were it not for the calming potion, I’m sure I would have exploded again by now. “Percival, please,” I beg him quietly. “Stop. You’ve made your point.”

He sees the look in my eyes—no amount of calming potion could keep me from feeling the pain or fear of seeing my normally-gentle husband like this—and immediately, repentantly squeezes me close to him. “I’m sorry, angel,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m sorry…Merlin, what am I _doing_ , you’ve already been upset once today…I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

President Picquery waits until Percival lets me go and looks back at her to say, very carefully, “I know what he did to you, Percy. And what he did to Credence. Or have you forgotten who _really_ killed your husband, the first time around?”

That draws him up short. “You know, I really should hate you for that too,” he mutters rebelliously.

“I’d deserve it if you did,” she says calmly. “But right now, the pressing issue is this: a dark wizard has escaped custody and is very likely on his way as we speak.”

“Wait—Nagini,” I blurt out suddenly, as a wave of breakthrough panic hits me. “Can you put her in a safe house, too? He knows her—he knows she knows me—he might come for her too.”

“Theseus and Nagini have already been moved,” she assures me. “They will be sheltered alongside the rest of the Scamander family in Britain.”

“Thank God.” I lean against Percival for comfort. “Please, don’t separate us,” I plead. I don’t know if I’m talking to Percival or President Picquery.

“I’d never take this choice away from you, my heart,” Percival promises me, one arm locked around me, the other playing gently in my hair. “If you feel up to taking on Grindelwald again, if you _want_ to come fight with me, I won’t send you away.”

I raise my eyes to his. “I have to,” I tell him, and I can see from the look on his face that he understands.

“Then go upstairs and get whatever you need,” President Picquery says briskly, “because you two are coming to a MACUSA safe house immediately. As you say, Percy, Grindelwald could very well be on his way.”

~

I don’t know how this happened.

Two hours ago, I was in my husband’s arms feeling safe and sated and loved. I was thinking about making him raspberry pancakes tomorrow morning, because I know they’re his favorite, and eating our breakfast together on the porch swing, wrapped up in a warm blanket and watching the wind rustle the turning leaves.

And now we’re packing to go to a MACUSA safe house so we can plan how to defend ourselves against a man I thought was dead.

I’m deeply thankful to Newt for the calming draught, because otherwise I’d be a guilt-ridden, heartbroken wreck just about now. Instead, I’m able to think through it somewhat rationally, and acknowledge that, yes, this situation is very bad, but Percival and I have survived worse. And no matter what, I remind myself, we’ll be _together._ This isn’t like last time, when I was alone and he was trapped and neither of us knew if the other had even survived.

This time, I’m trained and ready. I have my obscurus (mostly) under control, and I know combat magic I couldn’t have even dreamed of a year ago. And Percival is healthy and strong again, and I trust him with my life. If I almost managed to kill Grindelwald on my own, I reason, then with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement at my side, well…I actually kind of like those odds.

I cross the room as he snaps his suitcase shut and take him into my arms. He leans into it, lets his head fall against my shoulder, lets me wrap him up in a gentle hug. “This is nice,” he murmurs against my skin. I’m taller than him, now that I don’t stand with my shoulders bent anymore. Just by an inch. Just the perfect height for him to press against me like this.

I let my hands roam soothingly up and down his back, the way he’s so often done for me. “We’re going to be okay,” I say out loud, not even sure if I’m trying to comfort him or myself at this point. “It won’t be like last time. We can get through this together.”

“We will,” he agrees, his arms coming up to wrap around my waist. “I have complete faith in you, my beautiful miracle.” He lifts his head from my neck and looks into my eyes. “My husband. The man I love. Who’s already saved my life and defeated this bastard once…I don’t think there’s anyone in whose hands I’d rather be right now than yours, Credence.”

I cup his face in my hands and press just one soft kiss to his mouth before I tell him, “And I can’t think of anyone who I’d rather have by my side than you, my love.”

We have to go back downstairs, meet President Picquery, go to the safe house, form a plan of attack. And we will. But we’ve earned this, I think. This last moment alone together before we have to face the world.

Neither one of us says what we’re both thinking: it might be our last chance to say good-bye.


	10. With You By My Side I Will Fight and Defend

President Picquery is significantly agitated when we get back downstairs. “We need to go soon,” she says urgently. “With our luck he’ll be here any minute.”

Newt and Tina are just coming up from Newt’s case, and when Tina sees me she just about knocks Percival out of the way to get to me. “You’re okay?” she says, and when I nod she just about sobs. “Oh good. _Good_.” She wraps me up in a tight hug and practically has to be pried off of me. “You take care of him,” she orders Percival sternly, her eyes wet. “Don’t let _anyone_ do that to him again…” She shudders and looks to me. “I saw the wounds,” she explains. “And I’d like to not see any more, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promise.

Newt leaves each of us with two weeks’ worth of our medicine. He waits for Tina to distract both Percival and President Picquery with exit strategies to ask me in a low voice, “How’s the obscurus? Can you access it right now, or has the calming draught sedated it?”

I close my eyes and reach inward. The obscurus doesn’t exactly roar to life, but it definitely perks up when it feels me reaching out for it. With a shudder I open my eyes and tell Newt, “No, it’s definitely there.”

“All right. Good to know. Try not to use wandless magic until those burns heal, and _be careful_ if you let the obscurus out,” Newt orders me, and then awkwardly holds out his arms for a hug. When I stare at him like he’s crazy, he exhales in relief and drops his arms. “Just thought I’d offer,” he says with an obviously-relieved grin.

I let out a giddy, adrenaline-fueled laugh. “Yeah, um. Leave that to Tina, she hugs hard enough for both of you.”

I’m scared. God, I’m scared. In an hour I could be dead. _Percival_ could be dead.

Newt and Tina disappear first, and then it’s our turn. President Picquery herself takes us to the safe house, which turns out to be an abandoned little shack just across the Hudson…except when we get inside, just like Newt’s suitcase, it turns into a comfortable, airy three-bedroom house. “I love magic,” I say fervently as we carry our bags inside.

Percival chuckles at my enthusiasm. “Stay here, sweetheart. I’m going to check all the rooms, just in case…Sera, please, if you wouldn’t mind…”

She puts a hand on my shoulder and, involuntarily, I tense up. “Of course I’ll look after him for you, Percy.”

He shoots her a grateful smile and goes off to do his security check. I hate to let him out of my sight. More so when I can feel President Picquery’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. I wince a little and shrug off the touch. “Are you all right, Credence?” she asks kindly.

I turn around, an _I’m all right but please don’t touch me like that again_ on my lips, and I freeze. The obscurus inside me roils, threatens, _danger danger danger_ screaming in my mind. I don’t know why, but it’s like my obscurus is trying to protect me without my consent and I know _that_ feeling too well. When I look at her face, an involuntary gasp bursts from my lips. Her eyes are cold. Something is wrong, _wrong_ , this is not okay, _she_ is not okay, she’s been imperiused or…

 _Replaced._

Her hand comes to my arm again, the other resting on my side. My own hand has gone to my sternum, right where the push of the obscurus is the strongest. I let out a little cry, more out of fear than anything, and she asks, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Percival,” I say through gritted teeth, instinctively playing up my pain, my apparent weakness. “I need—oh, God—”

“Is it the obscurus?” she asks, sounding more intrigued than afraid, and now I _really_ know it’s not President Picquery.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, and reach up to grip her shoulders, pitching my weight forward as if I just can’t bear to stay upright. “I think—when it burst out of me earlier—something might’ve happened—oh God, it’s trying to come out, I—I need—”

Percival comes back from his perimeter check then, and when he sees me clutching at the fake Seraphina, he immediately rushes over and lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing. “Easy, easy,” he hums, and gently lays me out on the great room sofa. “You want to tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I know it’s him, but…he was just out of my sight for a good few minutes and left me alone with an imposter; how do I know he’s safe? I reach up, clasp my arms around his neck, pull him in as if I’m in pain and craving comfort. I bury my face in his hair—more thankful than ever that he never bothered to cut it after we left Hogwarts—and whisper in his ear, “I promise you, my sweet, the next time you leave this awful place will be the last.”

He draws back and just looks at me, confused, and then his eyes light up with understanding and he leans back in and whispers, “Let me show you all the lovely incentives I have to come back home to you.”

I nearly sob with relief. It’s what he said earlier today, right before we went to bed, and there’s no way an imposter could’ve had time to learn _that_. I squeeze him close and tell him, “Get her to leave the room.”

Percival wastes no time. He gets up, agitatedly paces the room, and looks over to the fake Seraphina. “He’s in pain. I don’t know what to do…Sera, you have the authority, can you firecall Newt and get him over here? Please, I know it’s a risk but I don’t know how to treat obscurials.”

“Of course,” she says, all bright eyes and false sincerity. “I’ll get right on it. Why don’t you take him upstairs, get him comfortable?”

Perfect. Within seconds, Percival has me in his arms and is taking me up to one of the bedrooms. “She wants us out of the room too,” he murmurs in my ear. “I don’t think for a second she’s calling Newt, do you?”

“Definitely not.” We settle in one of the bedrooms, positioning ourselves so that if she walks in it will look like I’m gravely ill and he’s trying to soothe me. It also gives us the benefit of being able to talk to each other very quietly. “It was the obscurus,” I whisper. “It— _did something_ —when she touched me. It knows something’s wrong.”

“You think something happened to Seraphina?” he asks anxiously.

“Percival, I—I don’t think that _is_ Seraphina.” I swallow hard. “I think it’s—”

“—him,” Percival finishes, his eyes going wide. “Credence, are you _sure_?”

“No,” I admit, “but if it’s not him it’s someone who works for him.”

Percival curses under his breath. “Well, we’ve got to figure out how we’re going to play this, then, and fast.”

He’s right. We make a plan, quickly and quietly, and when the fake Seraphina comes up a moment later to announce that she’s got Newt and Tina on the way, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. I’ve glamoured myself to look pale and sweaty, and Percival is kneeling at my bedside when she enters the room. “He’s so weak,” he says, anxiety creeping back into his voice. “Sera, for the love of God, please tell me they’ll be here soon.”

“They’re coming as fast as they can.” She pauses and then asks, “Do you have any idea what might be wrong?”

“It’s the obscurus,” I say, gritting my teeth as if I’m in immense pain. “It’s—it’s sucking my magic, or something, I—I can’t even— _aaaagh_ —I can’t—”

“He can’t use his magic,” Percival translates for fake Seraphina. “Whatever’s happening with that thing, it’s draining him. If Newt doesn’t get here soon…” He trails off and reaches out to stroke my hair. “Stay strong, angel. We’ll have help here in just a few minutes,” he promises.

We continue in this vein for a good half-hour, me pretending to get progressively weaker and suffer increasingly intense pain, until Percival rounds on Seraphina and demands, “Where the hell is Newt? I swear to Merlin, Sera, if you’ve got him lost or looking around the Woolworth Building for us—”

“Maybe he’s outside and can’t get past the wards,” she suggests placidly. “Shall we go look?”

“I’ll go,” he growls roughly...but the hand that cups around mine is exceedingly tender. “Sweetheart, I’m going to go see if Newt’s outside. Sera will stay with you, all right?”

He squeezes my hand three times. That’s the signal we worked out. I know that he is not really going outside, he is going to go actually alert Newt and Tina. “Please hurry back,” I pant. “I can…bear it…a little easier when you’re…when you’re here.”

 _I love you,_ I think desperately as I cling to his hand. _I love you, I love you, God I’m so in love with you, I’ll never stop loving you even if I die, please don’t ever forget me._

The moment he’s gone, the fake Seraphina comes and sits on the edge of my bed. “Poor little obscurial,” she coos softly, and a shiver runs up my spine: I _know_ that tone. I’m shaking now, and it is definitely not fake. I’m _terrified_. “I wonder, is it more powerful than you are now? When it bursts out this time, will it swallow you whole?”

I let out a weak sob. “I hope not.” I open my eyes, try to silently glamour them to look glassy. “President Picquery—I—” I swallow hard. “I don’t think—that I’m going to make it—”

“Oh, you mustn’t talk like that,” she cuts me off, sounding even more pleased now. “Percival will be so disappointed to come back and find you gone.”

I labor my breathing on purpose, let my eyelids droop. “Please—help me—” I pretend to faint. My heart pounds as “she” leans over me. I keep my mind carefully blank, as if I were actually unconscious.

I feel a hand on my face. “Beautiful Credence,” Gellert Grindelwald’s voice murmurs. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this day.”

The obscurus is pressing up inside me, nudging against my sternum, silently begging me to let it take care of the threat. No, not yet, I can’t—this hinges on my would-be captor thinking I’m too weak and ill to fight back.

“Wake up, pet,” he coaxes me, his voice low, seductive, and utterly chilling. “It’s time to face your fate.”

Indeed it is. I let my eyes flutter open slowly, and am not at all shocked to see his face hanging over mine instead of Seraphina Picquery’s. What makes me gasp in shock is how terrible he looks. He’s _wrecked_ , his face a mass of scars, his brown eye missing, patches of his hair burned away.

For a moment I’m almost excited; if I got him this good last time, maybe together Percival and I can finish him off. But I continue to feign weakness. “You,” I choke out, and pretend to struggle to move away. “No—where’s the President?”

“Oh, she’s back at her office, safe and sound,” he smirks. “She got an urgent bird from MACUSA and was assured that Abernathy was very well equipped to get you and your precious Percival to safety. Of course, by the time she figures it out, you two will be long gone.”

“No,” I say, trying and “failing” to get up. “No, _no_ —”

“Oh, yes,” he says, reaching up and trailing his fingertips down my face. “Now, because I’m merciful, I’ll offer you a choice. You can come quietly, and serve the cause properly this time…or I will tie up both you and your dear husband, force him to service me while you watch, and then make him kill himself. It’s quite up to you, dear. I do suggest you let me take you, however; that obscurus will eat you up like a slice of baumkuchen if we leave you like this much longer. Of course, if you _want_ to let it burst free, you may get lucky and kill me this time, or…if _I’m_ lucky…I’ll be able to get hold of it and use it to kill dear Percival…”

“No,” I sob, reaching up with a limp hand to try and grab his wrist. He watches, amused, at my pathetic efforts to clutch at him. “No, I’ll come with you…just please, _please_ don’t hurt him.”

“I thought you’d see it my way,” he says with a truly evil smile. “Now…just in case…” He whips out his wand and uses the incarceration spell to tie my hands. Once again I have to fight a smile, even though I _am_ frightened—escaping bonds is a specialty of mine. “And because I’m so very _kind_ , my boy, I think I’ll even let you say goodbye.”

He’s going to try to kill Percival, I know it, and I am ready. But I whimper and let him levitate me off the bed, still bound, and float me down the stairs. We get to the landing and, just as I would if I really were helpless, I scream when I see Percival coming out of the great room. “Percival— _run!_ ” I cry. “ _It’s not Seraphina!_ ”

He looks up and just barely dodges the blue-white lightning coming his way. “You _fucker!_ Get away from him!” he roars, and sends a fireball at us that clips the side of Grindelwald’s cheek, giving him a fresh burn.

Of course Grindelwald is very displeased with this development. “That was a grave error, _child_ ,” he snarls at me, one hand cupping the burn protectively. He whirls around, wand poised to attack…but the cords have disintegrated, I’m on my feet, and a blast of purple fire explodes from my hands and knocks him off his feet. It hurts— _God_ how it hurts, Newt was right about wandless magic being a bad idea—but I don’t have time to check the damage.

Grindelwald is on the floor, but any second he will be ready to fight. Percival looks up, and his eyes meet mine across the room. He knows what’s about to happen, and so do I. This could be the last time we see each other alive, and all the words we don’t have time to say flash between us in the blink of an eye.

_I love you. You’re worth it._

_I love you. I’ll never stop._

_I’d do it all over again._

_Me too._

And then Grindelwald is up again and we have to fight.

I shut my eyes and let the obscurus free, let myself transform into a black thundercloud of pent-up rage, and hope to God it’s enough.


	11. It All Has Come As We Had Feared

When I come back to myself I’m flat on my back—a bad sign—with Percival unconscious next to me—another bad sign. I hear laughter, high and cold and cruel, and I know that whatever is happening is not good.

I pull myself to my feet, even though my body is screaming in pain. Grindelwald is worse off than ever, his silver-blond hair soaked red with what I sincerely hope is his own blood. Through his torn clothes I see wounds not unlike the ones Newt healed for me earlier, and I feel a brief flash of triumph: he’s fighting back hard, but he can still be hurt. If I can wound him, I think, I can beat him.

He glares at me through his one remaining eye. “You tricked me again, Mr. Barebone.”

“It’s Mr. Graves now,” I snap, and I feel a surge of power flow through me at the words. I’m not the same person I was when I met this monster, and that makes me dangerous. He has no power over me, and he knows it, and that, I think, is why he wants so badly to either control or kill me. I look over at Percival, out cold and bleeding, but his chest is rising and falling and I know he’s alive. “And if you make me a widower, Mr. Grindelwald, I won’t hold back.”

He laughs, a cold and maniacal sound with no real mirth. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. I don’t think you _have_ held back, have you? And I have to commend you for it…you are a _very_ good fighter, Credence my boy, very good…but it’s time for you to face the facts. You left me for dead, and here I am. You’ll have to answer for it, but—”

“Oh my God, shut up and _fight_ ,” I cut him off, and send another lash of purple flames at him.

“So be it,” he says coolly, dodging my attack as if it’s nothing. He counters with a bolt of blue lightning. Our specialties, it seems.

It’s dueling, yes, but it’s more than that. This is no longer just a fight to the death, it’s a matter of honor, of _pride_ —he knows that if I win, it’s far more than his body that will die, it’s his reputation, his legacy. And I know that if I lose, I won’t die. I will be his prisoner, his slave, for the rest of my existence, and I’m not naive enough to think he won’t leave Percival alive as an incentive for my compliance.

 _All right. We’re doing this_.

I parry every attack. My obscurus seems to delight in swallowing up those bolts of blue lightning, swelling them to a shocking size in order to disperse the energy. I’m absorbing his magic, I realize as I calmly cross the room, my obscurus flowing out around me like a shield. I reach out and blast him with my magic, knocking him backward for only a second.

He recovers quickly and hurls pure electricity at me, rolling it across the floor like a rope and trying to sweep my feet out from under me. My obscurus lifts me into the air, sets me down in front of my enemy. He reaches out, ready to grab me; the obscurus wraps around his hand and sears his skin. He yanks his hand back and snarls in pain. “Give _up_ , Credence,” he commands.

But I don’t take orders from him. I never did.

“I’ll give up when you’re dead,” I tell him coldly, and hit him with a slashing spell.

He doesn’t see that coming, expecting perhaps for me to keep throwing fireballs at him. I draw blood. Lots of it. There’s a gash straight down his torso, rending his clothes and his skin, and he lets out another sharp, angry sound and counters by sending a flash of green at me that I know all too well. He doesn’t like the killing curse; only uses it when he’s either desperate or feeling merciful. For him to use it now, well…he’s ready to end this.

Unfortunately for him, the obscurus seems to have developed a taste for his dark magic and soars out to meet the curse halfway, swallowing it up the way it did with the blue lightning. “Impossible,” he practically spits, glaring at the swirling cloud of black that acts as my shield.

“I’m impossible,” I remind him. “I’m a miracle. I’m _unprecedented._ It’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

“ _Insolent_ boy!” He glowers at me as he casts one stunning spell after another. “You learned these tricks in my library, at my home, under my instruction. You should be thanking me on bended knee right now!”

“And you should be in a fucking grave,” I snap, and think, _now, do it now!_ I mean for the obscurus to swallow him up. Instead, it sends every spell it’s just swallowed right back at Grindelwald. The stunners. The blue lightning. The _avada kedavra_.

He dodges the beam of pure dark magic, but just barely, and it leaves a crater in the wall behind him. Shock briefly crosses his face—I don’t think he knew I could do that; hell, _I_ didn’t know my obscurus could do that—and I can see that he now knows I meant it when I said I wouldn’t hold back.

We fight, hard. Flashes of light spark through the room, every spell one to kill or severely incapacitate. I’m dying to transform again, the obscurus pulling at the edges of my consciousness and begging me to fully let it take over, but no. He’s counting on that. Instead I meet him spell for spell, fighting him with everything I have and then some, fueled purely by adrenaline and instinct and the desperate need to protect the man lying defenseless on the floor.

But he’s strong, Grindelwald is _so strong_ , and he eventually wears me down so much that I know soon I’ll _have_ to transform and let my obscurus do the work while I recover. Which I know is what he’s counting on. He hits me with some kind of air-pressure spell that manages to blast the shield of my obscurus away and nearly forces me to my knees. “That’s it,” he croons as he comes towards me, the air holding me at bay. I fire a stunner at him, but he easily deflects it. “That’s it, little obscurial, give in…” I drop to one knee, the pressure of the air so heavy I swear it’s curling my spine. “I should’ve tried this sooner…who knew all it would take to bring you to your knees was a bit of compressed air? Now, I think you and I—”

He doesn’t finish.

A jet of electric blue light hits him from the back and he collapses, the air pressure disappears, and the shield of my obscurus flows around me again. _I’m all right_ , I tell it, and then draw it back in, looking around until I see who hit Grindelwald.

Percival is sitting up halfway, hand trembling but stretched out to perform magic, his eyes determined. I rush to his side, the obscurus flowing out to cover both of us, and kneel beside him. “You’re hurt,” I breathe, reaching out to take him in my arms only to realize that he’s badly injured. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth and his hairline, and there are bruises around his throat.

“So are you…we have to stop meeting like this,” he manages with a weak smile. He reaches up and cups his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me down so that our foreheads press together. “Oh, sweetheart…I can’t tell you…I’m so proud of you, darling, _so_ proud…you have been the best thing in my life by far.”

“No,” I plead, my eyes closing as his hand tightens on my neck. My heart hammers against my ribs, tears welling up in my closed eyes, because oh, this sounds so painfully like _good-bye_.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you…now go be strong for me, sweetheart…I know you can…”

“No,” I say firmly, my eyes snapping open. “No. You are _not_ going to die on me, Percival Graves, do you hear me?”

“Oh, how touching,” comes a flat, mocking voice that I know all too well.

I should be surprised that whatever Percival did still didn’t bring Grindelwald down, but as I get to my feet and face my nemesis I can’t bring myself to feel anything other than irritation. _What is it going to take to kill this bastard?_ I wonder as I stare him down again.

He raises his hand, ready to do some deadly curse, and I swear to God even my obscurus is thinking _really, this fucker again?_ I’m about to brace myself for another onslaught of dark magic, idly wondering if my poor obscurus even has the energy left to eat up all the spells or if it’s as tired as I am, when the door blasts off the hinges and— _oh thank you God_ —

Seraphina Picquery, the _real_ Seraphina Picquery, leads the charge. Behind her are Newt and Tina—and, to my utter amazement, Queenie. She whispers something to Tina and, while President Picquery goes straight over to Percival with Newt, Queenie all but skips from behind and blasts Grindelwald with emerald-green flames.

He yelps in pain and whirls around. “Bitch,” he snarls, when he sees Tina, perhaps assuming she was the one who cast the spell. Then his eyes land on Queenie, and he pastes on a sickly smile. “Oh, I missed you, my dear,” he says sweetly. “Now can you do me a favor and—”

“Tell it to Sweeney, jackass,” she cuts him off, and hits him with a curse that, to my utter delight, _vanishes his mouth_.

He doesn’t like that one bit, and lets out a blast of magic that knocks us all back. I fall and, to my immense amazement, it’s Queenie who catches me. “You all right, honey?” she whispers, and my heart soars; _this_ is the Queenie Goldstein I remember.

“When did you come back to our side?” I blurt out. Hardly the top priority, but—

“I’ll explain later— _look out!”_

Unable to speak, Grindelwald resorts to the air pressure spell again. Queenie shields it effortlessly and I nearly sob in relief; I don’t know if I can stand up to that again. Tina hits him from behind and he briefly goes down, while she rushes to join me and Queenie. “Are you okay?” she asks me in a low voice, and I nod. “Tired, I’ll bet…if you need to transform, do it. We’ll keep his attention on us.”

“I don’t know if I can control it as well when I’m this tired,” I admit. “It’s mostly running on instinct now.”

Grindelwald is back on his feet, wand aiming at us. Queenie throws up a quick shield and whispers, “We can take care of ourselves, honey. You do what you have to do.”

The obscurus swirls around us, forming a heavy shield and briefly blocking Grindelwald from view, as if it knows we need stealth right now. I throw a look over my shoulder. Seraphina has gotten Percival to his feet and is trying to subtly help him get to the door, while the three of us have Grindelwald distracted. “As soon as she gets him out, I’ll let go,” I promise the Goldsteins, who both nod and ready their combat spells as the obscurus parts and lets Grindelwald see us again.

The fight gets more chaotic. Grindelwald does not do quite as well when facing three opponents instead of one. This has the upside of wearing him down and splitting his attention, which results in more spells hitting the wall than hitting us. Unfortunately, it also means that Newt and Seraphina have to shelter behind the couch and throw up a shield to keep our spells from hitting Percival, which both slows down their efforts to perform first aid and cuts them off from any legitimate escape route.

While Queenie distracts Grindelwald by using his own compressed-air spell against him, I whisper to Tina, “I think I can get him. I’m going to transform, it’ll take his attention off you two. You’ll only have a second, but if you both hit him with a stunner at the same time it’ll knock him out long enough for the obscurus to…do what it does.”

“Do it,” she says immediately. “I’ll let Queenie know.”

“You might have to stun me too, when he’s dead,” I warn her. “I really don’t know if I’ll be able to pull back this time. And you obviously can’t count on Percival to talk me down.”

“ _Do it_ , Credence,” she repeats firmly. “Newt’s here. He’ll know what to do if you lose it.”

 _Let’s hope so,_ I think.

I look over to the corner one last time. Percival is sitting up now, watching the fight through terrified eyes; injured as he is, Newt has had to magically restrain him to keep him from joining the fight. I know he wants to help. I wish he could; I know how it feels to be helpless while others try to make decisions or fight on your behalf.

“I love you,” I tell him, hoping against hope that he can hear me through the shield charm, that he knows I mean it.

And then I turn. Face the enemy. He’s gearing up for what I’m sure is another killing curse. _“Now,”_ I whisper to the Goldstein girls, and before he has the chance to _avada kedavra_ us, I let go.

The obscurus roars to life and, as I’d hoped, charges straight for Grindelwald. The last thing I know before the transformation is complete, is the sound of my husband’s voice shouting my name.

~

I hear someone screaming my name, but can’t answer. I know I have a body, but I can’t make it move. I know I’m human and not the obscurus, because I _hurt_ , and I never feel pain when I’m transformed.

“Credence! Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?” Someone’s hands are on me, lifting me, moving me. I want to scream in pain but I can’t.

“Save him!” someone screams. “I don’t care what you have to do, do it—I swear to God Scamander, _if he dies_ —”

My skin is on fire, a hundred sharp needles piercing my flesh. Oh, God, how I wish I could scream! I try to will myself to transform again, let the obscurus out—it’s not comfortable, it’s scary to be blind and deaf and unaware of anything but the occasional pull of strong emotion—but at least I wouldn’t _hurt_ like this. But the obscurus is dormant and I am paralyzed.

Every nerve is pain, pain, nothing but pain. My bones hurt. My _blood_ hurts. I know there’s a reason for this pain, I know I brought it on myself somehow, but I don’t care right now, I just want it to end. I know I don’t want to die and I know there’s a reason for that, but I can’t think of what it is.

 _Please,_ I think, _please, let it end…I don’t care how, just let the pain stop…_

A sharp gasp. “Newt, he’s awake, he can hear us—oh, poor thing, he’s in so much pain—” Queenie. Of course. She can hear my thoughts. _Please, I can’t take it,_ I beg her silently. _Please, it hurts, I can’t…_ “He’s hurting, you need to give him an anesthetic,” Queenie informs Newt, who I now realize is the one holding me, moving me, making me hurt _more._

“I can’t,” Newt replies sharply. “If I stop to do that, we’ll lose him.”

“Let me help.” A hand, gentler than the ones currently holding me, lifts my head and gently slips a tube into my mouth. “It’s going to be uncomfortable,” Tina’s voice warns, and then an icy-hot potion shoots through the tube and down my throat. I gag, my body involuntarily twitches and more pain burns through me—

And then, instant relief. My entire body suddenly feels very heavy and numb, a starkly alien sensation that makes me feel intensely vulnerable…but it’s better than the pain. _Oh thank God,_ is all I can think. “He’s okay,” I hear Queenie report. “Not hurting anymore.”

I hear a choked sob and someone sharply says, “Percy, _stay put._ You can’t help, you know that.”

“I just want to see him,” my husband’s voice protests, and suddenly I _feel_ him, I can’t feel anything but I can _feel him_ , and my eyes flutter open just in time to see his face swim into view. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he breathes, his eyes wide and frightened but so, _so_ full of love. “I’m here. Just hang on for me, Credence—just please, _please_ don’t leave me.”

 _Oh._ Something in my exhausted mind clicks into place. _That’s_ why I don’t want to die.

He reaches out, gently cups my cheek. I can’t feel his hand, the numbing potion took away my ability to feel pleasure as well as pain, but I know he’s touching me and it’s enough. I try to tell him something, anything. _I love you. You’re worth it. I’d do it all over again if it meant having five minutes with you._

But nothing works anymore. My mouth doesn’t work. My limbs don’t work. I can’t even keep my eyes open. _Queenie,_ I think hard, _tell him I love him._ And then everything goes dark and all I can do is hope with all my heart that I survive.


	12. Stars Are Falling, All For Us

A wave of pain hits me and I scream, the obscurus tugging at the edge of my consciousness, trying desperately to break free.

“Sleeping potion. _Now._ He needs to be sedated or he’ll tear himself apart,” I hear a sharp, unfamiliar voice say.

I feel hands on me, holding me down, and I scream again as waves of pain wrack my body. “Help,” I plead, fighting the urge to turn into the obscurus again.

“We’ll help. Here. Drink this,” the same sterile, unfamiliar voice orders, and I willingly open my mouth and let whatever it is descend inside. My body instantly goes slack with relief as the potion takes effect, and I gratefully let myself sink into darkness.

~

Grindelwald stands over me as I kneel beside the phoenix stand, a little ashen baby bird sitting in my outstretched palm. Oh, I realize as the little bird chirps at me, this isn’t a dream. It’s a memory. I remember this day, remember when he asked, “Why don’t you answer to Aurelius, my boy? I thought you were so anxious to know your true heritage.”

I keep my eyes on the baby phoenix. He looks up at me, innocent and trusting, waiting for me to feed him the glowworm wrapped around my other finger. “I don’t know,” I say, as I watch the phoenix chick happily devour his breakfast. “It doesn’t…feel like… _mine_ , I guess.”

“Is it that you don’t want it to be, perhaps? Are you disappointed, child?”

I shake my head. I hate that he calls me that. _Child._ As if I couldn’t take down this whole castle with a breath if I wanted to. “I don’t know, sir,” I say sadly. “I think it wasn’t the name…I just wanted the family to go with it.” I look up at him at last, let tears fill my eyes. I don’t really feel like crying. But I want him to think me weak. “Can I keep my old name and still be…part of your cause?”

He reaches down and pets my hair. “Of course, pet. You may call yourself whatever you like. Be faithful to the movement, my dear, and it doesn’t matter what else you do.”

 _I know when this happened,_ I think, a little dazed, as the phoenix chick hops from my hand and settles on its little ashy cushion. _I’d only been here for two days. I still cried at night because I missed Percival._

Oh God—Percival! If I’ve traveled back in time somehow, then he’s still in the dungeons, barely clinging to life. I have to save him! I have to…I have to…my mind goes fuzzy, blank, and suddenly a pair of arms is loose around me, my head resting against a very familiar chest. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Percival,” I sigh, and let my eyes fall closed as he cradles me against him like a child. “I thought you were dying.”

“No, my little miracle, I am not. And neither are you. But you’re very badly hurt right now and you need to rest. Will you let me look after you?”

“You’re always looking after me,” I protest, and I would get up, but I can’t move. “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to. You’re my husband, not my nurse.”

“I don’t mind a bit, my heart. Protecting you is a privilege.” He lays me out on a cloud, holds me in his arms, strokes the hair back from my face and lets me use him as a pillow. “And you saved me too, darling, several times, you remember?”

I let myself relax against him. I can’t help it, his touch feels so good and I’m so tired. “I think I know now,” I murmur sleepily, “why I didn’t feel anything when he told me my real name was Aurelius…maybe he wasn’t lying, maybe he was, I don’t care…my name never mattered…because I knew who I really was the first time we kissed.”

“Did you?” His arms close tightly around me. Something covers my eyes, blacking out the world and enveloping me in soothing darkness. “And who is that, my sweet?”

“I’m _yours_ ,” I sigh, and I’m suddenly floating, the world dissolving around me, my body turning incorporeal again. “It didn’t matter who raised me…living twenty years of pain as Credence Barebone was worth every minute…because in the end…” My voice sounds faint, my mind is going blank; soon I won’t be able to speak. “In the end…I was always meant to be Credence Graves…to be your husband…and even Grindelwald couldn’t take that away from me…”

_And everything goes black again…_

~

I don’t know where I am after that. It’s like being underwater, but I can breathe. I’m surrounded by warmth, I’m _floating_ , and it feels so good but…but somehow something feels _wrong_ …

I could stay here forever. I remember that on the other side, there is pain. But I also remember something else…I need to get home.

Where _is_ home, again?

I don’t know. I’m too tired to do anything but relax and let myself float.

~

I wake up slowly, one painful step at a time. First I’m aware that a hand is holding mine. A woman’s hand. The rest of my body comes back to itself just enough for me to feel pain, to feel precisely how tired and sore I am, and a low moan escapes my throat. “Easy, there,” comes a soft, familiar voice. Nagini. She’s here, holding my hand. “Don’t try to sit up yet. You’re still healing.”

“Percival,” I croak. “Percival, is he…did he…”

“He’s fine,” Nagini assures me. “He’s off being the Director right now, working his magic so to speak. You’ve been in here a while, actually. There’s a lot you’ve missed. But I’ll tell you later. You just rest for now, okay?”

“Can’t. Everything hurts,” I protest.

“Okay. We can fix that. Here.” She lifts the head of my bed enough for me to not choke, and helps me drink that odd potion that makes my body go numb. “There. Try to rest for a bit. I’ll wake you when Percival comes back, okay?”

I drift in and out for a while, and every time I wake someone is there with me. Queenie, who whispers, _you did it Credence, we’re all safe now._ Tina, who strokes my hair and gently assures me that it’s all right and she will watch over me. Newt, who promises that I _will_ heal, I just need to relax and let the healers and the potions do their work.

And finally, _finally_ , Percival. His hand cards through my hair. His lips brush my forehead, and his voice is low and tender and infinitely comforting as he tells me, “You can rest, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“I love you,” I try to tell him, but I’m suddenly exhausted and I let myself collapse into sleep again, secure in the knowledge that he is with me, warm and real and perfectly, beautifully _alive._

~

It takes a while before I’m allowed to fully wake up, to sit up in bed and drink broth from a cup instead of having a tube magically grafted into my arm, to actually _talk_ to people instead of just let them pet and comfort me. When I am finally weaned off whatever drugs have kept me safely sedated for however long I’ve been out, I realize to my delight that I don’t ache all over anymore, that my skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire every time I move. My back feels sore and there’s a little sting there, but it’s no worse than the belt wounds. I’m stiff enough that I don't dare try and get out of bed, and more than a little tired even though I've been knocked out for what feels like forever, but overall, really, I feel all right.

Tina, Queenie and Jacob are the ones who are with me when I’m finally awake for real. “They let you in here?” I tease Jacob. “Isn’t this a magical hospital? Aren’t you breaking, like, eight different laws right now?”

“Not anymore,” he replies with a grin. “They’ve officially amended Rappaport’s Law. Your husband’s been kicking the ass of every magical congressman from here to Tuesday.”

“Every time one of them tried to talk him down from what he wanted, he’d go on about how incompetent they were, because they didn’t realize he’d been replaced,” Tina adds, laughing at the memory. “And when President Picquery told him to control himself, he got _really_ upset and said, ‘I’m sorry, is the woman who _tried to kill my husband_ seriously telling _me_ to calm down?’ I wish you could’ve seen it, Credence, it was fantastic.”

“And he got exactly what he wanted in the end. Spouses and family members are now allowed to know about the magical world, even if they don’t have any powers themselves,” Queenie tells me with a smile. Then her face falls. “Oh, Credence. I’m so sorry.”

I realize with a jolt that we never really talked. That last time I saw her—well, before the big battle, anyway—as far as I knew she was still angry with me for killing Grindelwald. “What changed your mind?” I ask her. I gesture to Jacob. “I guess you two are—?”

“We are,” she confirms, the smile coming back in full-force. “He’s been great. Waited me out like he was capturing a unicorn, didn’t you, honey?”

“I have no idea what she means by that, but let’s just say yes.” He squeezes her hand. “I tell you what, those mind-healer people are _great_. We gotta get some of those for the non-wizard world.”

“Wait, no-majs don’t have anything akin to Legilimency Healers?” Tina looks genuinely startled. “What do you do with people who aren’t mentally healthy, then?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jacob and I tell her in unison.

Queenie must read Jacob’s thoughts, because she shudders when she looks at him. “Oh, honey. That’s awful. They just lock people up for being sick?” He nods, and she pouts. “Well that’s not fair.” She sighs and looks back to me. “Anyhow, Credence...I wanted to make up to you a long time ago…but I thought you’d hate me, after what I said. Honestly, I think I knew all along Grindelwald wasn’t going to fix things…you were right when you said he wouldn’t let me have a no-maj as anything other than a slave, if he won…but all I wanted was, well, _him_.” She indicates Jacob, now holding onto her arm with both hands, as if to let her draw strength from him. “But I didn’t need Grindelwald to make that happen. If anything he just got in the way, I’m lucky Jacob took me back.”

“Oh, no.” He takes her hands in his. “Don’t you talk like that. I _wanted_ you to come home to me. Forget that disgusting old vampire…I’m just glad you’re back where you belong.”

“Oh!” I sit up straight and immediately regret it when the room tilts, my stomach twinges, and I nearly throw up my broth. “So yeah, about Grindelwald,” I say, sinking back into my cloud of pillows and willing my stomach to settle and my head to stop spinning. “Did I—did _we_ —”

Tina nods slowly. “It…it really wasn’t pretty. We did what you said—hit him with a pair of stunners just as you transformed—and you did get him, it did work, but you had to expend so much energy to kill him…and I mean, you _got him_ this time, Credence, you really did; there’s literally nothing left but bones, no way he can come back from _that_ …but you just about died yourself. I don’t know exactly what happened—Newt said something about the obscurus tearing you up from the inside—all I know is that we almost lost you.”

“Graves was _frantic_ ,” Jacob informs me solemnly. “Thought he was gonna tear the healers apart with his bare hands when they wouldn’t let anyone in to see you at first.”

“They basically had to open you up and put everything inside you back together,” Queenie explains. “Your body was a real wreck. And it didn’t help that the obscurus kept trying to protect you from the healers, too.”

I shudder a little at the thought. “Yeah, I bet it didn’t.”

“They had to dose you with Draught of Living Death. That’s…kind of like no-maj ether, I think,” Jacob adds. “And your scary cloud thing kept burning it up or something, because they had to keep giving you more…”

He trails off, and Tina finishes, “The doses they were giving you would have killed a normal wizard about eight times over. When Director Graves found out about how much they’d drugged you, I thought he was going to burn the hospital down. And then Newt tried to extract the obscurus and _that_ ended about as well as you’d expect.”

“Did he get it out?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer to be yes or no.

Tina shakes her head. “He didn’t. It’s been pretty significantly weakened, though. He said you might not be able to fully transform anymore. Not that you should be doing that anyway. And not that you’d _want_ to, I’d imagine.”

She’s right—honestly, if I never turn into that “scary cloud thing” again it’ll be too damn soon. “How long have I been out?” I ask, almost dreading the answer.

“Not long. Only about two weeks,” Tina assures me. “And the actual healing itself only took a couple of days. But it was pretty touch and go…we were all so afraid…and the minute they let you have visitors, Director Graves spent every minute that he didn’t have to be at MACUSA here with you.”

“But then he was in court when you woke up the first time. Nagini was with you. He’s all jealous now, won’t speak to her, like she did it on purpose,” Jacob chuckles.

“Go easy on him now,” Queenie orders him gently. “We all get a little irrational when we’re in love, you know.”

“Where is he now?” I ask, butterflies erupting in my stomach at the mere thought of seeing my husband again.

Tina checks her watch. “This time of day, he’s probably making every senior auror in MACUSA quiver in terror,” she says matter-of-factly. “He can’t yell at Madam President for making him come to work every day, but he damn sure can yell at them for not noticing that he was replaced by a dictator for a week.”

“Aren’t you a senior auror?” I point out. “Shouldn’t he be making _you_ quiver in terror?” 

“Oh, no. I’m his assistant director now,” she says with a smug grin that’s entirely un-Tina-like. “And my assignment today was to watch over you.”

“When will he get out?” I push, happy for her promotion but desperate to see my husband, to see with my own eyes that he’s all right.

“He’ll come see you soon,” Tina promises. “And in the meantime—”

Right on cue, Newt bursts in with a basket of potions. “All right, you three out,” he orders them.

“You don’t work here, you can’t order us around,” Queenie protests, even as Jacob tugs her out of her seat and to the door.

“Not to mention I’m your wife, _and_ technically in charge of Credence’s case, so I have a legal right to be here. Just to monitor ‘the rehabilitation of the obscurial,’ of course,” Tina reminds him with a smirk.

“I fail to see what you being my wife has to do with anything,” Newt says carelessly, and he realizes his mistake as I fail to suppress a laugh. With a sheepish grin he turns to Tina, who has her best Stern Auror Face on, and says nervously, “I mean…‘whatever you say, dear?’”

“Too late,” Tina replies with a shark-like grin. “Just for that, Newton, _you_ may have the privilege of carrying our first child.”

If Newt’s thrown by that at all, he doesn’t show it. “Well, if a seahorse can do it, I guess I can,” he chuckles, and then snaps back to business as he reaches into his basket of healing potions. “All right, Credence…first things first,” he says, pulling out a bottle of what I suspect to be the numbing potion. “Any pain?”

I quickly, frantically shake my head. “No. No, I don’t want that. I’m fine, really.” Even if I were in pain, I’d still turn down the numbing potion. I don’t want to lose feeling in my whole body now, especially if Percival might be on his way. When he comes back, I want to be able to feel him holding me.

“If you say so.” He pulls out his wand and does a few diagnostic spells, makes me try to summon my obscurus (I can’t, which he says is normal), and has me try a few simple charms to see if my magic is still intact. It is, but my control is pretty much shot. “Also perfectly normal,” Newt assures me. “You’ll need to build up that control again, which should happen more or less naturally as you recover your physical strength.”

Then come the medications. He gives me something to help restore my lost equilibrium, so I can sit up straight without feeling dizzy or nauseous. A mild strengthening solution, tweaked to restore magical strength instead of physical. Something I don’t recognize that smells similar to the calming draught, which Newt says wards off “mental exhaustion.” “They give it to Hogwarts students who pass out after the OWLs,” he explains matter-of-factly, as if it’s at all possible that I might have a clue what that means. “ _You_ are getting it because you’ve been essentially in a coma for two weeks. Think of it as a wit-clearing potion, of sorts.”

I feel fine, really. But I take whatever he gives me, because I assume he knows what he’s doing. It turns out the pain on my back is caused by some fairly severe burns where my obscurus burst free. Those get a layer of the thick orange burn paste and a few drops of local anesthetic, so I can lay back comfortably. He massages something slick and sweet-smelling into my joints and legs until the stiffness is all but gone. “Oh, that feels good,” I sigh when he’s done and I can finally move again.

“I’ll bet it does. Now don’t get up, even if you do feel better,” he warns me. “I’ll come check you tomorrow and we’ll see about getting you out of bed. But for now just rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I want to see Percival,” I tell him. “I don’t need to get out of bed for that, do I?”

“He’ll be in when he can,” Newt promises. “Until then, _rest_.” 

He makes me drink something that leaves me feeling very relaxed and sleepy. It’s not a calming draught; I’ve had enough of those to know. No, this is clearly meant for sedation and at first I’m just a little put out _(didn’t I just spend two damn weeks unconscious? What’s the point?)_ but I can’t really be mad. Newt knows me too well: if he hadn’t given me this, I’d probably have driven myself crazy worrying about Percival and wondering when— _if_ —I’d see him.

Instead, I lie there and feel soft and floaty (and, all right, I’ll admit it feels good) until someone wakes me by carding a hand through my hair. I sigh dreamily and lean into the touch, and a familiar voice says soothingly, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

“Percival?” I murmur sleepily, trying valiantly to open my eyes.

“Sh-h-h. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“No, wait…” It takes some effort, but I manage to open my eyes enough to see him. I nearly cry with relief: he’s healthy and whole and absolutely beautiful, just like he was when I first met him. “I missed you,” I say, and realize it makes no sense; he’s the one who’s been awake enough to miss me, while I’ve been unconscious the whole time.

“I missed you too.” He continues to gently caress my hair. “But you and I can talk later. You saved the world, my angel. You can rest now.”

I let out a noise that can only be called a whine. “I don’t want to sleep. I want you to hold me.”

“I think we can make that happen.” I hear the creak and groan of my little hospital cot as Percival magically stretches it to accommodate both of us. He slides in and gathers me in his arms, letting my head rest in the crook of his neck. “How’s this? Comfortable?”

“Very.” I let myself relax against him, the pleasure of being in his arms far more potent than any drug Newt could give me. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“Later, I promise.”

“Please?” I’m still so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open, but I put in the effort to crane my head up and look at him. “Your voice helps me sleep.”

“Well, then. How can I possibly deny you that?” he says with a soft laugh. He proceeds to cuddle me and play with my hair as he tells me about all of his adventures in terrorizing MACUSA senators. I’m asleep in minutes, safe in his arms and content in the knowledge that I will see him when I wake up in the morning…and every morning after that.


	13. Where the Rain Won't Hurt

_One year later_

“Percival…”

“Sh-h-h. Patience, sweetheart.”

_“Please…”_

I squirm helplessly as he places a soft, slow line of kisses down my belly, stopping every few inches to lick and tease and nuzzle my skin with his nose. Pleasure wells up inside me and I whine, my hips lifting of their own accord to try to chase the sensation, but his hands press me down into the mattress, forcing me to still.

“Please,” I whimper again. I know I don’t have to beg—I know he’s going to make me feel so good, if I just let him—but anxiety rears its ugly head when we stretch it out like this; I’m afraid that any moment now Seraphina will knock on the door and tell us that another wizard war has broken out and we have to immediately prepare to fight. Or the next Grindelwald will blast their way into the house, after my obscurus or Percival’s status or, most likely, both.

He can feel me tensing up and he stops those gentle, teasing kisses. Instead he comes up and cups my face in his hands, kissing me so tenderly before he rests his forehead against mine and reminds me, “We have all night, darling. No one is out there waiting for us. We can take our time.”

I want to believe him, and on some level I do, but… “Please,” I whisper again, not even sure what I’m begging for at this point.

“Relax, enjoy it,” he urges me, a feather-light hand sweeping down my side, fingers tracing pleasant, almost-ticklish patterns on my skin. “You deserve pleasure, my angel.” His mouth makes a seductive trail down my neck and back up again, and he whispers in my ear, “Let me give you what you deserve.”

He waits, ever patient, for me to nod my consent before he continues. When I give him permission, he kisses down my neck again, slow and teasing and so, _so_ good. I whimper and he stops, just to see if I’m really all right, and then keeps going, worshipping every bit of skin he can reach with his lips and tongue until I’m desperate and trembling beneath him.

It took him a long time to understand why every time we had sex, I demanded _more, harder, faster, please Percival I’m so close, keep going, need you, oh God MORE NOW PLEASE._ Why I measured every time against the previous one and worried aloud that it wasn’t “good enough,” why an even slightly-disappointing time in the bedroom made me cry and apologize. Why our honeymoon sex had been so much fun, but it all changed after the final battle with Grindelwald, and I suddenly put so much pressure on every sexual encounter we had.

 _It’s because you think every time might be the last, isn’t it,_ he said one night, when I’d been so anxious over some trivial thing that I ended up not being able to get hard, which inevitably led to more tears and apologies. 

I hadn’t thought to put it in those words. But, as he always does, Percival hit the nail on the head. Something snapped inside me the night Seraphina knocked on the door and told us that we weren’t safe anymore, and it doesn’t matter that the threat was eviscerated that very night. When you go from lying warm and happy and sated in your husband’s arms, to suddenly preparing to fight to the death with a dictator who’s out for your blood personally, it leaves a mark.

So ever since he figured that out, Percival has put everything he has into helping me remember how it feels to let go and enjoy sex, instead of trying to make each encounter more spectacular than the last. It doesn’t always work—there always will, I think, be nights that I can’t get out of my head—but he’s forever patient with me and never lets me feel, even for a moment, that he’s disappointed in me.

Now his mouth makes a slow, pleasurable trail over the ridge of my hip, down to the soft, fleshy part of my thigh. He bites, gently, and I let out a noise that could charitably be called a moan. The urge to push him to go faster is still there, but with a tremendous effort I block it out. _No._ He’s right, we don’t have to hurry, we can do this all night if we like. If I like the way it lights my skin on fire when he slowly takes me apart like this—and oh, I _do;_ he makes me feel so good every time—I don’t have to make him stop.

“Talk to me,” he whispers against my skin. “I’m going to take you into my mouth now, sweetheart, and I want you to tell me how it feels.”

I whimper my assent, and he responds by licking, just once, very slowly and deliberately, up the shaft and back down. _“Oh,”_ I gasp, my hips twitching so hard he has to hold me down again. “Oh…please do that again.”

“Why?” he murmurs, and presses one quick, gentle kiss to the very tip. “Why do you want that? Does it feel good, angel? Hmm?”

“ _Oh_ —yes, _yes_ it does,” I breathe, and then moan again when he sucks just the tip into his mouth. “I’m— _oh_ —I’m so turned on, I— _ahh_ —” He’s swallowing me down now, very slowly, just enough to set me on edge. 

I let my head fall back, let my eyes flutter closed, as the heady sensations of pleasure crawl up my body and take over. His fingertips gently stroke my thighs, sending little shockwaves down my legs, as he keeps sucking me deeper into his mouth until I can feel his nose against my belly. “ _So_ good,” I moan, trying desperately to keep my hips still. “It’s so good, you’re so good to me, I—ahh, _yes_ —”

He hums softly, sending tingling vibrations dancing across my skin. Still very gently, wanting to give me the little kiss of pain to heighten the pleasure but without actually hurting me, he scratches his nails down the inside of my thighs. I cry out and, this time, I can’t help myself: I arch into his mouth, his name coming to my lips in progressively scrambled incarnations until all that’s coming out are whimpering moans.

I can just about hear him, in every steady bob of his head, every flick of his tongue, every stroke and scratch of his nails: _Enjoy it, sweetheart. Let yourself feel it. This is all for you._

When I finally come my vision whites out and I go completely boneless under his hands. He waits until I’ve gone fully soft in his mouth to let me go, pressing more of those sweet, skin-tingling kisses up the line of my body until he reaches my mouth and kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

He holds me for a long time, letting me drift down from the high until I feel safe and grounded in his warm arms. “You did so good,” he whispers against my hair. “How was that, darling? Did you like that?”

“Yes. God, yes.” When I can move again I pull back a little so I can see his face. “What do you want? I can go down on you too, or—”

“No,” he interrupts, gently guiding my head back to his chest. “I don’t need you to do anything for me right now. Tomorrow, you can have me in whatever way you like.” He squeezes me close. “And there _will_ be a tomorrow for us, sweet boy. You understand?”

I do. I’m drowsy and soft and immensely relaxed, and though I feel the tiniest pinprick of guilt that I haven’t made him come too, it’s a thought easily beaten back by the knowledge that Percival wouldn’t lie to me. If he says he doesn’t want it tonight, I need to trust him. And he’s right…and I need to _remember_ that he’s right…when he says that we can do this again tomorrow. We have time.

We have all the time in the world.

~

We live in the Graves family house, because I couldn’t stand the thought of living anywhere else and because Percival didn’t want to go back to his former apartment—too many bad memories, he said. It suits me just fine; I don’t mind having to apparate into the city every day if it means that I get to come home every night to the place where Percival and I got married.

Seraphina (after half a year of having her at my house every other weekend for dinner, it was kind of impossible to think of her as “Madam President” anymore) wanted me to work for DMLE, too. She was willing to let me bypass pretty much every requirement of the auror training program and go straight to junior auror status. But I didn’t want it. After Grindelwald, I never wanted to do combat magic again. She tried hard to convince me, but I was firm—never again. _Never_. The only way I’d ever fight was if someone was coming directly at one of my friends with intent to kill.

But I did want to work somewhere in the wizarding world. I liked the idea of teaching or tutoring, but no way was I going to work for Ilvermorny; I’d have to be away from Percival nine months of the year, and that was out of the question. Instead, I trained as a healer. I liked the idea of doing something constructive instead of destructive, and after everything I’d been through, well, let’s just say no one appreciates the skill of a healer like I do.

Besides…my husband is a MACUSA auror with a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide and absolutely no inhibitions when it comes to combat magic. Learning to patch him up just seemed like a smart idea.

So now every morning we go to MACUSA together. He stays with his aurors, and I go a little ways downtown to the hospital. I’m about halfway done with my formal training. Soon I’ll get to take on my own cases (the equivalent to a no-maj doctor’s residency) and soon after that I’ll get my certification and I’ll be allowed to practice at any magical hospital in the country.

Percival is going to make a big deal of it, I know he is, when I graduate. He already tells anyone who will listen how smart and strong and brave I am, that I defeated the most terrible dark wizard of our time, that I got into the trainee healer program without having ever been to Ilvermorny, that I’m the oldest living obscurial and that, above all else, I’m _his_. “I can’t believe he even lets me touch him, let alone agreed to marry me,” I once heard him sighing to Seraphina as I was coming in to bring him lunch. “I’m so lucky.”

 _I’m_ the lucky one, I think. But if gushing over me like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever I leave the room is his preferred method of expressing his feelings, well. I’m not going to complain. (Though I’m sure his aurors do. I have a feeling that none of them ever wants to hear the name “Credence Graves” again.)

Tina and Newt just welcomed their first babies: twin girls, named Rachel and Naomi (whom I can say with absolute certainty Newt did _not_ give birth to). We think that baby Naomi may have inherited the legilimency gene, because she already shows signs of being able to "read" her parents' wishes. Queenie and Jacob got married on the Graves estate just like we did, at Percival's insistence ("you're technically a war hero, Queenie; my old dad would just about come back from the dead to haunt me if I didn't offer you the chance"), and Queenie is training alongside me at the hospital now, because she wants to be a Legilimency Healer; she finds it a much more worthy occupation than serving coffee at MACUSA, and I definitely have to agree.

I don't see Nagini as much as I want. She travels with Newt now whenever he goes out to rescue or discover some new creature. They're looking for a cure to what Theseus (who I swear to God is in love with her, even if he won't admit it yet) calls her "little snake problem." So far, they haven't found anything. But Newt is, well, _Newt_ and I know he's hopeful. Nagini insists she doesn't mind if they never find a cure; she's happy to just not have to sell herself to circuses anymore. But she has admitted to me, at least once, that she _does_ hold out hope that they'll find something, someday.

I hope they do. I hope she gets what she wants. I hope they all get what they want. After what we've seen, I think we all deserve a happy ending.

~

A sharp gasp and sudden flurry of motion pulls me from a deep sleep. Within seconds, I am awake and alert, ready to deal with whatever’s happening. I cast a quick _lumos_ without my wand, so that a thin beam of light materializes in the air over our heads, and sit up to assess the threat.

As it turns out, the threat is my husband’s nightmares. Percival is sitting straight up beside me, sweat plastering his hair to his face, his eyes wild and frightened. My heart clenches as I reach out to him, I _hate_ when he has these dreams. “Hey, it’s okay,” I tell him, keeping my voice as soft and steady as I can. “It’s me, my love. It’s Credence. I’m here. Whatever just happened, it wasn’t real. But this is.” I gently rest my hand on his trembling shoulder, just enough to let him feel my presence.

He shudders so violently it almost throws my arm off. “Tell me,” he pants, his voice ragged, “what I said to you after we had our first kiss.”

“You said, ‘please let me love you.’” I keep my hand lightly resting on his shoulder, letting my fingers stroke back and forth just a little. “And that’s just what I did. What _we_ did.”

He nods, slowly, the fear beginning to recede from his eyes. He takes a deep breath and says, a little more steadily now, “Why did I make beef and vegetable soup for our wedding?”

“Because you found me shivering outside in the cold three days after you kissed me for the first time. You took me home and healed my scars, and you gave me a hot bath before you fed me that soup for dinner.” I move my hand from his shoulder to his hair, gently stroking and tugging until I feel some of the tension bleed from his posture. “It’s me, Percival, I promise. It’s your husband. I’m here. I’m real. I’m me. Everything is going to be all right.”

He nods uncertainly, but I can see in his eyes that he’s finally beginning to believe me. I lay down and he comes with me, resting his head on my chest the way he did when I first took him from Nurmengard. I continue to stroke his hair until he sighs and finally allows his body to relax against mine. “I’m sorry, my heart,” he murmurs against my skin. “It was a bad one tonight. I—I _know_ he’s gone, he’s not going to hurt either of us anymore—but—”

“I know.” I hold him close, his cheek pressed to the center of my chest so that he can hear my heart beat. “I know, my love. But he _is_ gone. And I’m here. So…” I stroke up and down his back with a soothing hand, making him sigh in pleasure. “Focus on me,” I encourage him gently. “Remember that I’m here, and we’re together, and we get to _stay_ together this time.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know,” he reminds me, and I consider it a personal victory that he sounds a little sleepy now. “You’re mine now, remember, and I’m yours…no running away when you get sick of me…”

I laugh a little at the thought. “As if I ever _could_ be sick of someone who treats me so well.” I hug him gently to my chest, relishing the sleepy _mmm_ that I hear in reply. “Sleep now, my love. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“And there will be a tomorrow,” he repeats himself from earlier, his words a little slurred now, his body limp in my arms.

“That’s right.” I continue to alternately caress his hair and rub his back until his breathing evens out and I know he is truly asleep.

Tomorrow morning, I will sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch him take the potion that is supposed to cut down on the occurrence of these nightmares. We’ll talk about the dream, maybe, or maybe he’ll already have forgotten the details by the time he wakes again. We’ll have breakfast together. I’ll make him those raspberry pancakes that he likes so much, and he’ll give me a sweet, sticky, syrupy kiss before he gets into the fireplace and floos himself directly to his office in MACUSA. I’ll send him notes through the day, if I have a chance. He’ll bring me lunch at the hospital, because he knows I forget to eat if I get too busy. And when we get home, perhaps we’ll make love again, just as we did tonight, except this time it will be my turn to take him apart until he’s weak with pleasure and crying out my name.

But right now all I need to do is hold him, and feel the pleasant weight of him in my arms, and know that we are _safe._

That there _is_ a tomorrow for us, and another one after that.

I never could have imagined this three years ago when we first met. Never would have told you the first time I saw Percival Graves, _that is the man I will marry._

But I’ll tell you this—now that I have him, I can’t imagine my life going any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's it for my "Screw You Crimes of Grindelwald" fic! ^_^ This was the first Gradence fic I ever wrote. I was going to clean it up a lot more, fix the plot holes, play up the angst, but BFF was like DON'T YOU DARE, YOU GOTTA POST THE ORIGINAL HOT MESS and, y'know. You have to listen to your beta readers, right? Anyway...hope you guys liked my First Ever Gradence Trash! ;) <3


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